White Noise
by Hotteaforme
Summary: Waitress Bella wants nothing to do with her boyfriend's shady drug dealings. When he forces her to do him a favor, she finds herself on the wrong side of the wrong sort of people… all except one. M for a reason. 00s vibes.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I don't own any thing. Biggest thank you to the wonderful Monica for correcting my many, many mistakes and Maria and Heather for pre-reading. Literally wouldn't have the confidence to post if it wasn't for your encouragement and feedback.**

**So, warnings. This story is heavy on swearing, drugs, domestic abuse, violence and some angst. If this isn't your cup of tea then this might not be for you.**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

The diner is sticky hot, ceiling fans twirling round like synchronized dancers, futile against the humid still air. Customers are few and far between especially on a day like this; when the temperature is in the nineties and everyone is taking advantage of the heatwave to be outside, soaking up every last drop of sunshine.

Adjusting thick pink polyester, I try to let my skin breathe, sweat on my back, between my legs as the tops of my thighs rub together; every cell protesting at the heat. Faint sounds of Fat Bob whistling tunelessly as he clatters around the kitchen breaking the silence.

I'm not sure what the hell he's doing in there in this weather. Fat Bob has the gut the size of a couch cushion. He blames it on eating his "chefing" but in reality, it's because his "chefing" is deep frying every-fucking-thing, so it's no real surprise to anyone.

I sigh. The clock on the wall opposite doesn't move, no matter how often it draws my eyes. It stopped working a few days ago, and no one has bothered to change out the batteries which is typical of this place, I guess. Nobody is bothered, not even me.

The mirrored door swings open, throwing streaks of sunshine across the room. Straightening up, I'm half expecting some of the neighbourhood kids to come trailing in with their sweaty fists stuffed full of quarters so they can share a slushy and try to chat me up, in that way, like they know how to get a girl.

It's not them though.

"Hey," I say. "Whatcha doing here?"

Red pouty lips curve into a smile as Charlotte walks over, hips swaying, and hops up onto the bar stool. She's all sass and mouthy confidence, though she tells me she wasn't always like that. Back in high school, before God had blessed her with an hourglass figure, they had teased her for her flat chest and curly hair. She had reinvented herself she said, like freaking Madonna.

"I've come to rescue you from this shithole," she jokes. "Seriously B, it's warmer than the fires of hell in here." Her nose wrinkles as she brings her cell out of her back pocket and glances at it. "I ain't sure how you're not passing out in that dress, to be honest. Is James too tight to fork out for aircon?"

I lean over the countertop towards her. "I'm literally so sweaty my thighs are chafing."

"Mine do that anyways," she laughs, slapping her bare thighs. "These thunder thighs don't need hot weather to make that happen."

"Don't give me none of that bullshit Char, your legs are lush."

Charlotte barks a laugh and pats my arm affectionately.

"Your one to talk, you fine ass bi—"

The door behind me opens, interrupting.

"Speak o' the devil and he shall appear," Charlotte mutters, loud enough to know she'll be heard.

She's like that. Not afraid to speak her mind. I frequently wish I could do the same. She gets a real kick out of pissing James off though because she hates him and I don't even blame her. I think sometimes I hate him too.

"You talkin' shit about me, skank?"

He's tattooed heavily, from his knuckles to his neck, his face hard and his arrogance visible. Tucked behind one ear is a cigarette. Once he would make my heart skip, skip, skip. Now? It only thrums anxiously.

Today his hostility is blazing like the sun outside. He's in a foul mood and that ain't fun for anyone.

"Always," Charlotte says giving him a sardonically sweet smile, my own tightening to my face.

I feel his body heat before he slides a hand around my waist. Leaning in he kisses my cheek, dragging his mouth to my ear, hot breath on my hot skin.

"Got a job for you, B," he whispers. "Come see me in the office after you finish up."

I nod mutely as he lets go and saunters into the back, leaving us alone again.

"Asshole."

I release a long breath, ignoring Charlotte's jibe and glance at the time on the till. Only three whole hours till I can get out of this hideous, suffocating polyester. Charlotte puts her cell face down on the counter, scowling.

"Bloody Maria, did ya know she split with Petey again? Now got her chewing my ear off askin' for advice. I said to her, 'Honey, yous are cheating on him every other day. What do you expect?' Like, she's only herself to blame."

"Seriously?"

I only saw Maria and Petey last week at one of Janie's parties and they were all over each other. Petey is a sweet guy, but she treats him so bad. I mean, I'm not sure how much more he can take.

Charlotte snorts when I tell her this.

"Like James does you? Only you take his shit and ask for more." It's a verbal slap to the face that leaves me floundering and when I don't say anything immediately, she looks up.

"What? It's true."

"I'm not getting into this again, Char," I say, finding my voice. "I mean it. He's really... trying. Just—Just leave it alone, yeah?"

I pray she does.

Charlotte looks at me with her lips pressed together. She's picked me up more times than I can count; my rock, my soul sister. She begs me to leave him before he goes too far, says I can do better but she doesn't understand. He's all I have.

She returns to her phone and we spend the next couple of minutes in silence; her tapping away furiously as I preoccupy myself with cleaning the coffee machine for the third time that day, just for something to do.

I know she wants to say more. I'd bet my last twenty dollars on it. She's probably bitching me out to Maria right now but I'm so glad she doesn't say it to my face. I know everything she says is the honest truth, and it's nothing I wanna hear right now.

"So anyways," I call over my shoulder as I check the milk levels, trying to move on and remove the tension. "What's the deal with you and that guy?"

Charlotte looks up at me with defeated eyes, huffing. I'm half expecting her to carry on but she surprises me by smiling. She starts talking about Troy; some mechanic guy she met at Janie's party last week.

"Oh, B, I think he might be the one," she exhales breathily, her eyes bright, her excitement palpable.

For a second I'm jealous, wanting to feel that way. Because I don't, not when I think of James. I can't take this away from her though, she deserves to be happy.

"Are you being serious? Oh my God, you totally are. You need to spill, girl."

A wicked smirk creeps on to her lips.

"Ya should see the size of his dick, B, my days!"

Laughter bubbles up.

And everything feels normal.

* * *

It's 8 o'clock in the evening when I clock out, gladly ridding myself of the godforsaken pink uniform and shimmying into a pair of denim cutoffs and a vest top. I exit the toilets hastily, eager to get home and have a shower to wash the day's heat off my skin.

I see James standing outside the office down the narrow hall, talking closely with Vicky, a new waitress he hired a few weeks back. She's got the most outrageous dyed red hair, like a Mary-Jane Spiderman cartoon character. My stomach knots as I see her gently shove his arm and look at the ground, her moonlight pale skin flushed pink. She's pretty.

As I get closer they both look up, shifting so they're not as close as they were and I ignore the vibe between them, the one that makes me want to punch something.

"Oh. Hey, Bella," Vicky greets casually, her eyes flickering back and forth between us.

"Hey," I say to Vicky with a forced smile, my attention quickly turning to James.

"You needed me to do something before I head home?"

"Yeah, let's go," he says, jerking his head toward the door of the office. Paint is peeling off it and there are dirty watermarks from it being opened with wet hands. Like the rest of this place, it's grim. I tell Vicky to have a good shift and she stalks off to front of house, giving a cursory glance over her shoulder and it makes me feel a sort of sick satisfaction she's so easily dismissed.

The feeling vanishes when we step inside the office. The desk is littered with large parcels of coke, weed, and pills. Smaller baggies, papers, a set of scales, and some other powder I don't know the name of all laid out methodically. If I had to guess, I'd say he was cutting the coke.

It's really not my place to ask though.

I bite my bottom lip. Half of me wants to laugh, the other cry.

My eyes dart from James, comfortable in this place, surrounded by this shit, to the windows and I'm seriously hoping there's no cops waiting to bust in right now because how do you plead your case when you're guilty as sin?

He'd only call me irrational if I brought up the stupidity of doing this stuff here, of all places, so I say nothing. I've learned when to be quiet—my opinions don't count for Jack.

James pushes the door firmly closed and moves behind me, sliding hands around my waist and up to cup my tits, giving them a squeeze.

"You look hot." His voice is little more than a low whisper into my neck as he places a kiss there.

"Hella hot, it's fucking roasting in here, out there, everywhere." I pull away from him not meeting his eyes. I'm not in the mood. His breathing pinches and I know he's annoyed but I can't help it. I'm annoyed too.

I want to ask him about Vicky, but I don't.

"What did you want me to do? Do you need me to clear out the cold chiller again cus I did that the other day—"

"Nah," he interrupts. "Not that."

I frown at him.

"I need you to do me a favour."

"Like what?"

He's behind the desk, momentarily sliding a drawer at the bottom out before placing a thick brown envelope on the table and drumming his fingers on it.

"I need you to drop this off for me."

My mind stutters blankly. "Drop it off for you?" I repeat stupidly, looking between the package and him, my stomach twisting. "Is it drugs?"

"Not drugs, babe, just money," he says nonchalantly, like he's just asked me to do something normal, like go to the mailbox or pick up groceries.

I flush with heat. "Drug money? Are you—are you fuckin' kidding me? I told you when you first started doing this—this shit—I want no part in it!"

"I wouldn't ask you if I weren't desperate!" he snarls. He walks around the desk until he's standing in front of me but I refuse to look at him.

I'm staring hard at the grimy beige floor as he brings his rough hand under my chin and forces it up to look into his eyes.

"Look it's no big deal."

"Then why can't you do it?"

"I've got somethin' that needs doing. I'd ask Marcus but I need him and I don't trust any of those other fuckers."

I say nothing. Again. Afraid of the words on the tip of my tongue. He tucks a stray hair behind my ear and leans in, kissing me. His lips are oddly cold and when I don't respond he pulls back, his whole body tensing. He takes a step forward and I take one back instinctively, anger giving way to a pang of fear.

And again.

And again.

And again.

My back hits the solid door and I flinch as he brings his hand up and palms my face gently. For a split second, I'm craving loving touches but suddenly he's gripping my cheek and chin roughly, fingers tight on my skin, pinching to the point a whimper escapes. He ducks his face close to mine, teeth gritted.

"After everything I've done for you?"

He utters those words and I know he has me. He pinches my skin harder and I squeeze my eyes shut wanting to block him out, wanting him to stop. When I open them again, he pulls back a little shaking his head.

"There is no one else, B." He releases my face and instead places his hands hard around the tops of my arms. "And I know you're not about to fuck me over."

He pauses.

"You love me?"

I want to laugh because I don't know what the fuck love is anymore. Is this love? It doesn't feel like it, but instinctively I say:

"Ye—"

"Then you'll do this."

Answers die in my throat. My heart thumps hard. There is no choice but his here.

Wearily, I ask him what I have to do.

He smiles victoriously.

"They'll text the place and the time to this burner at some point tonight," he says pulling out a cheap black cell from his back pocket and holding it out. Reluctantly I take it from him, turning it over in my hands loosely like it'll burn me if I keep it still too long.

"And they'll be expecting me?"

He licks his lips, shrugging, pulling out a black handgun from behind his back, pressing cool metal into my palm. I push it right back, panicked. It only makes me wonder about my Mamma. James presses it to me again.

"Take this."

I'm shaking my head. As if adding weapons into the mix in any way makes this situation better. James sees it as his goddamn right. Says it's for his own protection but I've stared down the barrel to know that ain't true.

Reaching for the packet, I swing my bag from my shoulder and stuff it in hastily along with the cell. I hand him back the death metal.

"C'mon, Bella, just take it for my peace of mind, yeah?"

I breathe out the question I want an answer to.

"These guys are dangerous?"

"B, these fuckers run this town; quit asking dumb shit," he snaps. "Look, B-"

I don't let him finish. "And here you are forcing me to do this."

This is really so dumb. So stupid. So fucked.

I slam the door hard behind me as I leave.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

I'm on autopilot driving home, the car uncomfortably hot, engine loud in my ears; wind whipping at my hair through the open window, tugging and teasing like little hands. It almost feels pleasant. Therapeutic. My hands are a different story; tension pooled into them, knuckles white through the skin.

Catching my face in the wing mirror all I see is regret reflecting back at me. Doubt creeps in as I replay what just happened over in my head. Should I have said no again?

I swallow thickly, ugly memories rearing their head.

I know the answer. I made the only choice I could, even if it feels wrong. Even though he promised me after last time. Even though he's trying. Pushing him would've been a mistake; of that I'm sure.

I park the car near our building careful to wind the windows up, my keys out already, held firmly in my fist as I hurry past piles of garbage bags and graffiti-covered walls. There's a group of teens hanging on the street corner, giving shit to people walking by. I know some of them do runs for James sometimes but that doesn't put me at ease. This neighbourhood has a reputation; and not a good one.

Living below the breadline forces people's hands. We're all just trying to scrape through life the best we can and for the most part I don't blame anyone for what they have to do. I just know that the choice I made months ago, to not get involved in all the crap James does, has all been taken from me.

As soon as the main door of our building closes behind me I'm running up the stairs hoping I can avoid Mr. Ameer who lives on the second floor. He owns the whole building with his wife, or so we were told when we took the tiny apartment on the third a few months ago.

All I know is he bangs on the door every week for rent and I've avoided him at all costs the past two because we haven't had it. Maybe it's been three. I frown. I can't keep track. Either way, the thought of another confrontation right now is not what I want so when I reach the second-floor landing I slip my shoes off and tiptoe past his door as quietly as I can, faint sounds of applause from their TV like my own personal pat on the back.

I make it unscathed to the top floor but my heart sinks when I see a note pinned to the door, underlined twice in thick black marker with too many exclamation marks; the word "RENT" in block capitals.

_Shit._

...

Heat creeps back on my skin as I stand shower fresh in front of the bathroom mirror. The girl in front of me looks tired and drawn, eyes dull. I look again, self-critical. I don't like how my nose is slightly off centre or the way my thighs touch at the top or how my teeth are slightly crooked from not wearing my retainer enough during my teen years. I especially don't like the circular scar on my belly, near my hip.

My Nonna showed me pictures of my Mamma when she was around my age now, way back in Phoenix before everything got so messed up. I hadn't seen pictures of her from when she was young before but she was beautiful; I can't really remember her now. At all.

I'm exactly like her, Nonna had said, minus the dodgy 80s perm but I didn't really think so. I think she was just saying that. Too much of my Papà in my face.

Thinking about Mamma, Papà, and Nonna never ends well, so I push them to the back of my mind, busying myself pulling on fresh clothes and trying on some gold hoops Charlotte bought me the other week.

I told her I didn't need them, feeling guilty for her spending her money on me but she insisted that I deserve something nice. I gave in because it's Charlotte and she gets her way almost all the time.

Bringing the cheap cell out my bag to check it, I'm not sure how long I'm supposed to wait. There are no messages, no contacts. Nothing at all on it.

A sick feeling settles in the pit of my stomach, apprehension making my jaw clench; when I think about what I'll have to do, who these people are, what they might be capable of. _Jesus_.

James never talks to me about any of this, says it's not my business but now he's forcing it to be my business and I don't have a clue. Like a lamb to the slaughter and I can't help but feel bitterness towards him.

I place the cell face up on the coffee table staring at it often, worrying I'll miss the message, unable to relax even though my eyes are itching with tiredness from a day that started too early.

Hours crawl by and the heat is making me drowsy. I've just closed my eyes for a few seconds when I hear it vibrate. I'm there in an instant, mouth dry, hands shaking.

Feeling a fresh wave of nausea, I'm rushing to the bathroom only just making it to heave up the contents of my stomach, bile burning acrid at the back of my throat.

When I'm sure I'm not going to be sick anymore I brush my teeth, sitting on the side of the bath.

Rationalizing, I do the only thing I can think of.

...

"This is fuckin' creepy," Charlotte says as we drive through pitch-black night, far from the lights of the main roads. I can only nod in agreement, nerves sticking words in my throat.

Where they want me to meet them—whoever they are—is on the very edge of the city, near the state border between Illinois and Indiana, by the railroad and a yacht club that run on the edge of the Lake. I'm not even sure if it's even classed as the city anymore and I have to wonder why they've picked somewhere like this if it's just money I'm giving them. It doesn't make sense to me.

We've been going around in circles for the last twenty minutes trying to find the right road when Charlotte points out the little track obscured by trees. I'm disappointed that we've found it—any excuse not to do this would be more than welcome.

We could still turn back I think.

A braver version of me might even be ballsy enough to take the money and hightail it back to Arizona but I'm not even a shadow of that girl.

The burner vibrates again, pulling me from my thoughts but I daren't stop. We're already late.

Charlotte picks it up instead.

"Where the fuck are you?" she reads aloud and then clicks her tongue. "Well, if they hadn't chosen somewhere straight outta a CSI episode I'm sure we'd be there right now. This is givin' me all the bad vibes, I swear, B. Shall I text these douches back or what?"

"Nah, let's just—let's just get there, we can't be too far off, right?"

We're at least a mile down the track when it opens out into a vast wide expanse. The railroad running parallel to the lakeshore, electricity pylons looming like sentries overhead.

There's a sleek black beamer pulled up a little further along. It's windows are tinted and the doors are open. Even though it's the early hours, it's still muggy and as we're close to the water there are midges everywhere, caught like raindrops in the headlights.

I swing the car in taking a deep breath, trying to calm frayed nerves. This must be them.

"Nice set of wheels," Charlotte says, eyeing the car with envy.

"Yeah, maybe crime does pay after all," I agree with a weak laugh, unbuckling my belt and twisting to grab my bag from the back seat.

I'm about to ask Charlotte not to step in and let me handle everything but there's a sharp rap of knuckles on my driver side window, making me jump.

"The fuck are you?" says a voice behind glass. I turn around, losing myself in dark eyes.

Whoever this is, he's definitely not what I was expecting. He's way too good-looking.

I crack the window down.

"James sent us," I say hesitantly as he drinks in my face silently, his own unmoving. He wasn't expecting us but James had shrugged it off like it didn't matter. Obviously, it does.

"Get out the car," he says, finally. I hesitate, glancing at Charlotte who's rooted to her seat.

"Both of you, get out the fuckin' car," he growls, his voice low and laced with impatience.

This time we're both complying.

When we get out the car we find he's not alone.

Two other men exit the beamer as Charlotte joins me round my side, cursing her wedged heels on the stony ground.

"The fuck are you?" asks one of the men as he gets closer, looking us up and down. He's tall and broad, dark curly hair cut short, dressed all in black.

Charlotte crosses her arms irritably and I grimace because I just know she's gonna open that big trap of hers and get us into a heap of trouble. I elbow her sharply in the ribs and she looks at me incredulously as I shake my head. She huffs and closes her mouth.

"James sent us. Wanted me to give this to you," I say repeating what I'd told his good-looking friend minutes ago, reaching into my bag.

The curly-haired one has a gun pointed at me faster than I can blink.

"Stop right there," he says with menace and I know he's not playing. Freezing, I look from him to the gun in his unwavering hands, pointing straight at my head. If I'm still breathing I'm not aware of it, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst right out of my chest.

"Whoa," Charlotte says beside me, her voice a pitch higher than normal. She's raising her hands in innocence. "Not cool. We ain't here to cause any trouble."

Curly scoffs, his face stony.

"Chuck him the bag."

He gestures to the third man. My eyes slide to him. He's shorter and fatter than the other two with close-set eyes, something decidedly pig like about him. Sweat beads on his forehead, dripping at his temples, rolling down red cheeks.

Fear pulsing in my veins, I do as Curly says, biting my lip and dragging it through my teeth nervously. Maybe my naivety is showing in spades right now. This is why I can't be doing this stuff— I fuck it up. Maybe James is right, maybe I am that dumb. And I thought Charlotte would get us into trouble, the thought makes me want to laugh out loud.

"Both of you turn around, hands on the car."

I look at Charlotte, and for the first time in a long time, I can see she's scared, her usual confident self wavering under the fear of the unknown.

If she's like me, she's imaging them executing us with a bullet through the back of our heads. It would be so easy for them. Dump our bodies out in the lake. No one would know. No one would really care, in my case, either. Are these the type of guys to do that? Curly certainly seems the type. The good-looking one? I'm not sure.

We do as we're told, raising hands and placing them on cooling metal.

"Frisk 'em," Curly says sharply and I almost sag with relief.

Charlotte grumbles shit under her breath as she's done first. I daren't look at her and even though I know what's coming, I still flinch a little when I feel large hands start touching me. They aren't rough though, they're precise. Practiced.

"They're all good."

Warmth blossoms on my cheeks as I realise its Good-Looking who's just had his hands all over me. I wonder whether Charlotte's as affected as I am. A sly glance her way tells me she's not.

"Turn back around, both of you."

Good-Looking is still close to me when I do, ducking his head and avoiding my eyes as he pulls out a lighter and a mauled pack of cigarettes. He slides one out, placing it between his lips as Curly paces the same three feet of ground in front of us, only stopping when Piggy passes the thick envelope to him.

He opens it and rifles through more stacks of bills than I've ever seen. Piggy takes this opportunity to brazenly look me up and down, eyes lingering on bare legs. I tug at the hem of my shorts self consciously, wishing I was more covered.

"Well, you're both better looking than James, that's for sure," Piggy says tossing me my bag back, wetting his lips with his tongue, his gaze focusing on Charlotte in the same lecherous way.

"Ain't that the truth," Charlotte says sweetly, because she can't help herself.

"Knock it off," Curly says, annoyance lacing his voice. He's still counting. "You ain't here to try an' get your dick wet."

Piggy mutters something under his breath and seconds later Curly viciously clips him with the butt of his gun. Grunting, he clutches the back of his head with small hands.

"Shit, fuck, man. That fuckin' hurts."

"Where is he? James?" Curly says, placing the money back in the envelope as he ignores Piggy. The question is directed at Charlotte who shrugs and looks at me.

"I dunno, he said he had something to do," I say, running a hand through my hair self-consciously. Curly looks like he doesn't believe me but it's the truth.

"You sure he didn't say what he was doing?"

I shake my head.

"And he sent you two? Not Marcus? Or one of his boys?" Curly probes, eyes still narrowed as if he's trying to suss us out, as if we'd be here for any other reason. Maybe he thinks we're cops or something.

"He don't need to send his boys when he can send his girl," Charlotte grinds out with a roll of her eyes and I want to kick her. They don't need to know who I am and I really don't want them to.

Good-Looking catches my attention again as he lights his cigarette, his profile cast in light and dark, cheeks hollowing on his inhale. He exhales a cloud of smoke out the corner of his mouth and I can't bring myself to look away.

"You're James' girl?" he says to Charlotte who starts laughing.

"Boo, do I look like I'd go near that asshole? I'd rather drink bleach. Nah, B, here is his girl," she nods at me. He appraises me silently but Curly is more vocal.

"His girl? Well damn. Why didn't you say? What's your name, Doll?"

His questions don't make me feel any more at ease; as if knowing I'm James' girl would've made any difference to how this has gone down.

I want to lie, but I think better of it, resigning myself to small talk.

"Bella."

"Bella." He draws my name out, rolling it around his mouth as if he's trying to taste it, try it out, see how it likes it. It makes me feel uncomfortable so I look away, still feeling the weight of his gaze. He says something but it's a lot quieter, like he's turned around, so I don't hear it properly. A sharp voice in the negative makes me look up at them again.

Curly is shrugging and turns back to face us. Behind him Good-Looking is tense, frowning, taking another pull on his cigarette. He meets my eyes steadily, but it's me who looks away first, unnerved. Maybe I should've been paying attention.

"Your friend don't seem too keen on your boyfriend," Curly says to me, amused. "Now, why would that be?"

He would pick up on that. I'm not sure where this is going so just as I say, "That's not any of your business." Charlotte chimes in with, "Are you for real?"

"Shut up, Char," I hiss.

She's not listening.

"You got eyes, ain't you? He's punchin'. My girl deserves the best and he definitely ain't it."

Curly smiles and I cross my arms frowning. What this has to do with anything I don't know. This whole situation is beyond bizarre.

"And your name? Char?" Curly says his attention now on Charlotte.

"Charlotte. What's it to you?" she retorts, clearly not in the mood to entertain even though she offered up details in the first place.

"Absolutely nothing, sweetheart," Curly says nonplussed. Then, "This thing goin' to be regular?" He looks at me. Does he mean doing this for James? I shrug a little. I hope to God that it ain't.

"For future reference, this fat fuck is Ben," he gestures to Piggy who glowers, still rubbing the back of his head. "GQ over there is Masen," he waves a hand at Good-Looking. "And I'm Alec."

"Well, I'd say it's been nice meeting y'all, but I'd be lyin'. If we're all good here, it's getting real late, and a girl has to get some beauty sleep," Charlotte says pointedly.

"We should go," she reiterates to me and stalks round the car. I pause not really knowing what to say or do.

"Yeah, we should take off." I twist the strap of my bag in my hands. Opening the car door I slide in, half-expecting to be stopped. Never have I felt more relief for sitting in this rust bucket. Hastily I shove my keys in the ignition, realising my hands are trembling badly.

Alec swaggers towards us, tapping the window and leaning in when I wind it further down. His icy blue eyes meet mine.

"Tell James, he's a grand short, if he's not got it next week, I'm going to take what's his and make it his own—you know what I'm sayin', Doll?"

He smiles again, and it chills me.

"Sure."

As Alec moves away I find Masen watching—me or Alec I'm not sure. His expression is unreadable, but he's dismissing whatever Ben is saying to him with a slow shake of his head.

I reverse out hurriedly and we're silent until we hit tarmac and streetlights.

"Fuck this shit," Charlotte murmurs.

"Yeah."


	3. Chapter 3

*****Warning as this chapter has some domestic violence towards the end.*****

* * *

**Chapter 3**

I'm running in more ways than one.

Running on no sleep, running late and running down the stairs, one hand slipping along smooth worn wood, the other swinging worn ballet flats I live in for work.

Unfortunately for me, my successful streak of avoiding Mr. Ameer runs to a halt as his door swings open. I don't stop, even though I probably should.

"RENT!" he bellows at my retreating back. I descend another flight, feet clattering steadily downwards.

"Sorry Mr. A, I'm late for work—I promise I'll sort it as soon as I can," I holler, glancing upward to see his wizened face peering over the railing. I hope so anyway.

Reaching the foyer my eyes land on the mailboxes. I can't remember the last time I checked ours—James wouldn't, he never does.

Hastily I find my key in my purse, open the door and stuff a handful of letters in the front pocket of my bag with the intention of giving them to him later on. He usually deals with all the bills. I don't think there's even one thing in my name.

I glance at my cell, cursing under my breath. I'm already supposed to be at work and I haven't even left yet.

...

I'm scolded by Jenny as soon as I clock in, containing myself to rolling my eyes as I strip in the toilets, pulling on the pink dress and tying my white apron with her talking at me through the door.

Jenny must be in her forties, all cotton candy bleach blonde hair and eyeliner drawn on too thickly. Slightly too self-righteous for my liking, especially when she starts.

"You don't do yourself no favours, missy," she says as I try to fix my hair and makeup in the tiny mirror. "Ya think you get preferential treatment cus your boyfriend runs this place, well I ain't treatin' you any different from nobody else who works here. Ya can add the half hour you were late for onto the end of your shift."

She has her hands on her hips and my lips twitch with the urge to tell her to shut the fuck up. I smile instead, taking a breath, cooling my irritation. I'm in the wrong after all.

"Yeah sure, sorry, it won't happen again."

The day is long, slow, hot and I'm bone tired. It's been a week since I ran James' errand and I'm still restless at night, unsettled dreams keeping me tossing and turning. I worry about him when he doesn't get back till the sun comes up, but he dismisses it. He's doing what he needs to be doing, or so he says. I can't shake the feeling that something else is going on though.

...

"What do you want to do?" I ask Charlotte, legs swinging from the picnic table in front of the diner. I finished up my shift an hour ago and met Charlotte out front. We've been sitting for a good hour soaking up the good weather rays. My thighs are sticking uncomfortably to the painted wood underneath and my dress has ridden up almost indecently short but I'm too busy basking in the sun to care. Charlotte sits beside me leaning back on her arms, head tilted to the ball of fire in the sky, dark sunglasses perched on her face.

"Ah, I dunno, B, I could stay here all day," she says wistfully.

"Me too, to be honest," I say, feeling too lazy to move.

We fall into a comfortable silence listening to Gnarls Barkley singing "Crazy" on her iPod, me with one earbud, her with the other.

"Has James asked you to do it again?" she asks, her voice low as people walk close by. I'm wary as I look over at her. She's been adamant that if there's a next time I should just say no.

If only it were that easy.

"No," I reply hesitantly.

"Good."

I nod in agreement.

We don't really say any more; I think we both just want to put it behind us, but I have a niggling question.

I sigh and Charlotte gives me a look.

"It's nothing," I say, swinging my foot, frowning.

"Out with it," she prompts, removing her earbud. I glance around, wanting to make sure we definitely can't be overheard.

"You know when that Alec guy was askin' for our names that night?" Charlotte nods for me to continue. "What did he turn round and say to the others?"

"Is that what's been bothering you?"

"I wouldn't say that … but it was about me, right?"

"It wasn't anything big, B, he just said something about you fitting in at "Fever" … whatever that is."

"Oh," I say, relaxing my shoulders. "Well, that's fine, I guess."

Charlotte laughs. "Honestly, girl, you fixate on the unimportant stuff sometimes. You didn't catch GQ looking at you like you're the finest thing he's ever seen?"

My mouth drops open and I feel hot all over.

"What?"

Charlotte just laughs, jumping off the bench, doing a funny little stretching dance before pulling me onto my feet.

"C'mon let's take a walk to Target." She links her arm with mine and I feel lighter than I have in weeks.

...

Our trip to the shops is cut short. Charlotte rapping her knuckles violently on the door of Maria's house, glass rattling. After receiving a string of incoherent texts, we rushed over to her neighbourhood to check on her.

Charlotte tells me Maria's behaviour has been erratic, at best, since she broke up with Petey. I know she's right, I usually see much more of her but I haven't since Janie's party a couple of weeks ago. I feel guilty. I should've checked on her before now, I haven't even text. I've been too wrapped up in my own bullshit. I bite my lip, silently vowing I'll be a better friend from now on.

"Open up, bitch, I know you're in there," Charlotte says, rapping harder on the door and giving it a kick for good measure.

It's not like she needs to, the door has already been patched up, the mismatched wood making her house look like the dump it is. Maria's neighbourhood is only a tiny step above mine; destitution clinging to the houses and the roads and the people, like a tar that can't be scrubbed off.

I look out at the street, seeing we're drawing attention from the neighbours, sitting on the steps and porches opposite, watching with mild amusement as they puff on their cigarettes. Kids slightly further down pause to look, they're playing basketball in the street, the sound of shitty hip hop music blaring.

"Urgh!" Charlotte spins round to face me, exasperation all over her face.

"Do you think she's OK?" I chew my lip, concern starting to weigh heavily in my chest. Stepping up to the side window on the porch I cup my hands to look through the glass. I can't see any signs of life. Maybe she's gone out. Not like that would be any better if she's completely off her face.

"Let me ring her again," Charlotte presses the phone to her ear and shakes her head. "I swear to God this girl drives me round the bend." The phone rings out and Charlotte tries again.

Unsuccessful she stuffs it back into her jean shorts pocket.

"Let's check around back," she suggests, taking the steps down from the porch two at a time.

The chain link gate down the side of the house is locked and for a minute we stare at it until Charlotte announces we're just going to have to climb it.

"Have you thought about what this looks like?" I moan, shaking my feet out as I land hard on the ground the other side, the landing stinging my heels.

"You worry too much. We're checking up on the welfare of a friend, I'd say that's plenty of good reason to be climbin' over fences, right? God, I hope that dumb bitch hasn't done anythin' stupid. I know she's cut up about Petey, but seriously. Girl needs to get a friggin' grip."

"Yeah, well, just be nice—OK? You're about as tactful as a brick through a window sometimes."

"I dunno what you mean," she replies with a flip of her hair.

"Yeah, right."

We move around the back of the house where the back garden is overgrown, a patchwork of parched yellow grass, dusty dirt, and junk.

I'm a little jealous if I'm being honest. I'd give at least a pinky finger to have a backyard, especially in the summer months.

An old fridge, an upturned trolley, and a smashed tv are interspersed with faded plastic children's toys.

She had a kid at one point; she doesn't talk about her at all. At least not to me. I only know what Charlotte says; her baby girl got taken into care for some reason and she ain't ever going to get her back.

I don't judge her for it. I don't know the full details; besides, I've got the impression that Maria punishes herself enough for whatever happened.

The back door opens when Charlotte tries it and she flashes me a satisfied 'I told you so' smile. I grin at her weakly, feeling apprehensive.

The house is in a state. Worse than I've ever seen it. The back door opens into the kitchen; dirty pots piled high in the sink and food wrappers covering every surface. The lingering smell of rotting food hangs unpleasantly in the air and I gag, covering my mouth with my hand.

"Jesus."

Charlotte grimaces but carries on until I hear her yell somewhere down the hall.

"FOUND HER!"

I stumble after her, feet finding clothes strewn down the corridor, almost making me trip.

Her bedroom isn't faring much better than the kitchen. The wardrobe door has fallen off and there are more clothes on the floor than hung up; bowls, plates, and empty beer cans litter the room, festering in the hot weather. The curtains are drawn and in the dim light I can just about make out Maria's petite frame curled up on the unmade bed.

"Is she OK?" I come and stand next to Charlotte who's peering over her. Maria has a bottle of Jack gripped in her hand, the contents dripping and staining the mattress. She's in a bra and a denim skirt that's ridden up around her waist, revealing a pair of round cheeks and a flimsy red thong. Grabbing the bottle, I prise it from her fingers as Charlotte shakes her gently.

"Maria! Honey, can you hear me?" Maria groans incoherently and rolls over. Charlotte shakes her again. "Maria, you're gonna have to wake up."

She opens her eyes a fraction before closing then again.

"Immasleep," she slurs.

"I'll get some water," I say, heading back toward the kitchen, holding my breath to avoid the stench and returning quickly with a cloudy glass of tap.

Charlotte sighs and pulls a sheet over Maria, covering her skinny limbs and butt-naked ass.

"Gonna be awhile before she sobers up. Can't just leave her in this state, she'll probably choke on her own vom." She sits herself down on the edge of the bed and pulls her cell out again, fingers flying as she furiously presses out a message. I join her.

"Supposed to be seeing Troy tonight, so that's that cancelled... Sleepover?" she asks with fake enthusiasm.

I shrug bringing out my own phone. I've already got a few missed calls from James and I pull a face. He'll only keep on calling until I answer.

"I should call him back, be back in a sec," I say, getting up again and walking back through the house, into the yard.

The sun hangs low and bright in the sky as I find a perch on a broken chair. I press the call button, nervously.

He answers almost immediately.

"B, I've been trying to get hold of you. Where the fuck you at?"

I wince. There's no hi, hello, how are you, and it's quite clear he's pissed off.

"Hey, yeah. Sorry. I'm at Maria's with Char, she's got herself all twisted over Petey."

James scoffs in my ear and by the way his breath hitches I know he's smoking up.

"Dunno why you bother with either of those ratchet ass hoes," he sneers, exhaling.

"They're my friends." My voice sounds as small as I feel, like a child being berated. I kick out at a dandelion near my feet, the seed heads exploding and drifting away on the breeze, vague recollections of making wishes as a kid. What would I wish for now?

"Listen, are you out tonight?" I say carefully.

"Yeah, why?"

"I'm gonna stay here then."

He's silent on the other end. He really has no good reason why I should be home if he's not there anyway. Still, I brace myself, knowing what he's like, wondering whether he'll backtrack and find any reason he can as to why I shouldn't.

"Fine," he says, slowly, an edge to his voice. "I'll see you tomorrow, babe."

"OK? Um, see you tomorrow then."

He hangs up first and I'm left frowning, wondering why he let it go so easily. Dragging my lip through my teeth, I sit for a minute and stare at my feet. There's an uneasiness settling in my bones; it's almost too good to be true. Maybe this is what he wants.

He's always out late but I never question it, not like I used to. My mind wanders to Vicky, how close they looked the other week and my gut twists unpleasantly. Is he cheating?

Perhaps I'm just being too cynical. I should just be happy, right? Maybe he really is turning over a new leaf.

...

Whilst Maria is passed out, Charlotte and I clean the house as best we can—checking up on her periodically. It's the least I can do, and I hope in some ways it can make up for the fact that I haven't been around for her.

We fill five garbage bags in the space of an hour, Charlotte telling me to stop being a pussy when we're taking out the trash, as I dry heave to the point of having to hold my knees.

"Shove it," I say from behind my hands. "That is fuckin' rancid!"

Charlotte shrugs. She works in a nice hotel downtown as a maid, but before that, she kept house at a seedy motel.

"This is just gone off food," she says, "Come back to me when you've cleaned shit off walls and then we'll talk."

It's gone two in the morning by the time we flop down on the lumpy brown sofa, the house looking semi-decent. Exhausted, I drift off with my head against Charlotte's shoulder.

Maria joins the land of the living just as we're figuring out breakfast. Stumbling into the living room she blinks at us, before lurching to the bathroom and vomiting until I'm sure she's going to rupture something.

I sit on the edge of the bath, holding her thin blonde hair and rubbing her back.

"Better out than in, right?" I hold out a glass of water for her as she spits into the bowl.

"Thanks, babe," she says, her dry hand squeezing mine as she takes the glass. Two Tylenol later, we settle her on the sofa between us, a bowl at hand just in case.

"Sorry," she says, waving a hand around her living room. "Thanks for cleaning up my shit, I-I haven't really had chance, with everythin'." Her voice is hoarse and mascara is smudged under bloodshot eyes.

"Girl, you need to get your shit together," Charlotte says, taking her hand. "I know things are rough at the minute but you gotta start looking after _you_."

"I know … I know," she mutters, eyes downcast. "Just Petey leaving again has really messed with my head; I keep tryin' to call him but he won't answer. He says it's over for good this time." She sniffs, tears leaving tracks down her face. I grab a tissue and she dabs her eyes.

"Yeah, well, that I don't blame him for," Charlotte says bluntly. My eyes flash to hers over the top of Maria's head and I shake mine slowly. No tact. Charlotte rolls her eyes.

"I'll talk to him for you if you want, but no one can make him change his mind if he wants out, you know?"

She looks at me tearfully.

"You'd do that for me, Bella?"

I nod and she gives me the smallest of watery smiles.

"I know I fucked up with that guy, I was just so wasted. I don't even know his name for Chrissakes, had to get the morning-after pill as I couldn't even remember whether we used anythin'."

"How'd it end up happening anyways? I thought you were good with Petey?"

Maria exhales forcefully, her fringe flying up. "Petey and I had a stupid argument, he said he don't want me dancin' no more. Wants to take care of me—"

"And that's a bad thing? Seriously." Charlotte interrupts. "Heaven forbid he wants to settle down with his girl."

Maria shakes her head. "You don't understand Char, I like dancin'. I like the money. I'm good at it, why should I stop? He just needs to accept it's part of who I am but he don't, or won't. Whatever.

Anyways, I was mad, and I went out with some of the girls from the club and we all got talkin' to this group of guys and one thing led to another. Like I said I was wasted—I never—I never meant to and I can't even remember properly."

The tears flow freely, her attempts at wiping them away failing.

"I just … I just feel like I want the world to friggin' stop. Ever since I lost my Princess, I just feel like … empty. Everythin's gone to shit. And now—I've lost my Petey and I just can't fucking stand it. An' the worst thing is, it's all my fault."

Her face crumples in despair and I wrap my arms around her as she starts crying harder, sobs shaking her body. I tell her as calmly as I can that everything's going to work out fine, and I really hope she believes me because I'm not even sure if I believe that.

It just reminds me we're all just one mistake away from shit hitting the fan.

…

"Bella!"

I'm squeezing my eyes shut tightly, hoping I can stay in bed longer. Our room is dark so I'm not sure how long I've slept but it must be hours. Disoriented and groggy, I stumble and open the bedroom door, bright light stinging my eyes.

I got back from Maria's late afternoon and decided to take a nap, exhausted. I wasn't keen on leaving her but between her insisting and an early shift at the diner I finally gave in with promises of checking in at the weekend.

James comes over and wraps his arms around me, pulling me so I'm flush to him, his body hard against mine. I bury my head into soft, dark cotton, surprised at his affection. It's not completely unwelcome. Moments where he's the person who I fell for—I cling to them like the gold dust they are, hoping that he'll go back to being that person again.

He pulls back and brushes his lips on mine. I smile, for the first time in what feels like forever and reach up to push dirty blond hair out of steely eyes.

"Hey."

"Hi."

He looks around the apartment.

"You didn't do nothin' here today?"

My smile fades. There are dishes from the other day in the sink and I need to take a pile of clothes to the laundromat but it's not too bad, not considering over the past couple of days I haven't really been here.

"Not had a chance, I got in and fell asleep. I was so tired after last night..." I trail off.

"Still, could've done somethin'," he says dismissively, letting me go, and taking a seat on the battered blue leather couch. And just like that, the few fleeting moments of easiness disappear.

"Are you hungry? I can make dinner?" I offer, desperate to hold on to them.

"Yeah, sure." He pulls out his cell and swears under his breath. I slowly walk to the kitchen and sigh, my shoulders sagging with the weight of uncertainty. I never know where I am with him.

Dinner is quiet, the tapping and scraping of knives and forks against porcelain making more noise than either of us. James is distracted, his cell going off a couple of times. He ignores it, letting it ring out. I'm not sure why, it's not like he's talking to me, even though I try to engage him, wanting to feel the spark of affection I felt earlier again.

What have I done wrong?

I chew my lip as I clear up the dishes. He finally answered the phone, stalking into our room, shutting the door firmly behind him. Whoever it is, he doesn't want an audience. I take my time washing, drying, and putting them away listen intently to the low rumble of his voice. I can't hear clearly enough, though.

"Motherfucker!"

I hear something thud against the wall, followed by a second louder bang. Seconds later he emerges slamming the door behind him.

Everything about his demeanour is furious, I can practically feel it radiating off him as he brushes past me and into the kitchen, opening the fridge violently and taking out a beer. He cracks it open, taking a long swig before sitting down heavily on the couch.

He sits there for a minute, completely still, staring into space. I want to ask him what's wrong but I think better of it, even though his right hand is bleeding, beads of blood blossoming over black ink just below his knuckles. He must have punched the wall.

Pulling a little plastic baggy out, he pours white powder onto the glass coffee table and takes out a card, cutting it methodically into three precise, fat lines.

I stare at him, then at the coke, a hollowness settling over me. He's always been a casual user; I mean, even I've dabbled before, but this is becoming more and more frequent. It worries me. Like the late nights worry me. It's like I don't even know him anymore.

"B, sit down, you're pissin' me off just standing there."

I start at the sound of his voice, realizing I've zoned out.

He takes out a hundred dollar bill and rolls it up as I sit obediently at the end of the sofa, bitterness licking my insides. I can't remember ever having a hundred dollar bill. He even takes my wage from the diner and gives me an 'allowance'. I can't remember ever agreeing to it, but that's how things are.

"Everything OK?" I ask hesitantly, my voice wavering.

He leans down and snorts a line, letting out a little whoop and shaking his head.

"Fine."

He leans down again, snorting the second line.

"And?"

The third disappears. He sniffs, wiping his nose and pockets the bill in dirty jeans.

"And what?" he snaps.

I swallow and sit silently, fiddling with the hairband on my wrist. It shouldn't be this hard. It shouldn't be like this.

"Listen," he says roughly, jerking me from my thoughts. "I need you to run me some money again this week."

I blink at him, frowning.

"Why? I thought I was just doing you a favor last week?" I say unhappily.

"Yeah, well, shits come up," he says, a twitch in his jaw. He scrubs a hand down his face, and his knees begin to bounce.

"And so, what, I'm left to sort it out for you?" I say shakily, annoyance breaking self-imposed restraint.

He stares at me coolly. Then jabs his index finger at me aggressively.

"I'm bustin' my fuckin' _ass_ off for both of us at the moment, B, putting myself on the fuckin' line here and you're gonna start with shit again?"

"I'm not trying to start anything, I just—I didn't like it last time!"

He laughs bitterly. "Boo-fuckin'-hoo, poor little Bella didn't like it. So. Fuckin'. What? I tell you to do something, you do it, B."

I swallow. "They pulled a gun on Char and me, I don't—"

He slams his fist down onto the coffee table making it rattle. I flinch, breath caught in my lungs.

"The fuck you just say?" he breathes angrily, nostrils flaring.

My brain scrambles. "I said they pulled a gun on me and Char…"

He's on his feet, fists clenched, and I'm on mine, quickly putting distance between us, only just realizing my mistake. Too late now.

"Did I say take that little bitch with you?" He swings his arms wide, pacing with pent up frustration. I don't answer. "DID I SAY TAKE HER WITH YOU?" he shouts louder.

I jump.

"You never said not to!"

He growls, starting towards me. Instinctively I'm turning, fear bursting through me as I reach for the bedroom door handle, twisting it open.

James is faster, hand on my own, crushing it tightly against metal before I can even get in the room. He pulls the door back towards us with a jerk, shoving my head hard into it with his other hand.

I yelp, recoiling from the edge of the door that's smashed into one side of my face. Pain blossoms and I'm feeble and dazed as he spins me round to the wall. Fingers find my throat, under my chin, pressing heated rage, the tinted smell of cigarettes and beer on his breath turning my stomach.

"I didn't think it would matter, you never said!" I choke, pleading, my eyes watering, the whole of the left side of my face smarting.

"Of course it fuckin' MATTERS!" he spits.

My head starts to pound, my heart beating so fast, so hard. I feel something wet trickle down the side of my face.

"She's not going to tell anyone!"

"Do you have any idea—any fuckin' idea what it would cost me if she opens that big trap of hers?"

I'm clawing at his wrist desperate for release from his grip.

"She wouldn't! She wouldn't do that!" I'm lying but I'm desperate for him to let me go and he knows it.

He just laughs, right in my face, deadly, soft, and cruel.

"Bull-fucking-shit. That bitch wouldn't know how to zip it if she were six feet in the fuckin' ground!"

"Please Jay, you're hurting me," I whimper, a tear escaping. "You promised."

He lets go and I gasp, thinking he's finally listened until he slams my head back into the wall.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The vision in my left eye is blurred when I come to, lying horizontally on worn, scratchy, blue-grey carpet. I slowly sit up, blinking rapidly. It's still dark outside so I'm not sure whether it's minutes or hours since…

Since what happened.

A lump rises in my throat as I sit still, listening intently. There's the faint gurgle of the refrigerator, traffic on the street, the TV from our downstairs neighbour, interspersed with the shaky sound of my own breathing.

The rest of the apartment is silent.

He isn't here.

Head throbbing I try to scramble bits and pieces together but the whole of the left side of my face feels … not quite right—it throbs, painful and sore, and I'm only becoming more and more aware of it the longer I sit.

_Fuck_.

Reaching up, I gingerly touch my head, fingers feeling moisture in my hair and down my face. I get up slowly, feeling unsteady on my feet as I stagger to the bathroom.

My eyes narrow as I lean over the sink, nausea rising. I can see blood smeared on my fingertips and when I look up at my reflection, my grip on the sink tightens.

There's blood everywhere; down the side of my face, my left eye, on my forehead, and matted in my hair; dark and thick where it's clotted. A gash just above my eyebrow seems to be the source of the bleeding. My eye and cheekbone are swelling, pale purple blossoming where the door collided with my face; an almost perfectly straight indentation.

I'm not sure what feels worse. The physical hurt, or the fact he promised me this wouldn't happen again. And just like all the promises that came before, it had been broken.

I bite my lip to stop myself from crying, but I end up pitifully whinging as I start trying to mend the damage he's inflicted.

It takes me the better part of an hour to wash the blood out of my hair and patch myself up the best I can. The cut above my eyebrow isn't too bad once I've stemmed the flow of blood, though I have a feeling it might scar as there's no way I can go to the ER and get it stitched. Too many questions I can't answer.

Locking and bolting the door, I pace the apartment for a while, listless as I try to gather myself. I'm pretty sure James isn't going to come home again tonight, and that gives me a little breathing space. A little time to think.

I run through every detail of our argument. His furious face playing before my eyes even when I close them; the flashes of anger, the tipping point where there's just no reasoning with him anymore. Did I deserve this? Surely, taking Char with me wasn't the worst thing in the world? I try to see it from his point of view but I just can't reconcile it with what he's done.

And I'm sick of it.

Sick of having to walk on eggshells around him all the time, fearful of triggering a whole new cycle where it always ends up the same. Over and over and over again.

I know things need to change and I need to be the one to do it. I need to be the one strong enough to say enough is enough.

I need to…

I need help.

Maria is dealing with her own drama. I shouldn't burden her with mine too. Charlotte … I chew my lip. I can't call Charlotte, not right now. I can't face her brutal honesty or the pity that comes with it because she knew this would happen again. How many times has she told me to leave him?

And still, I stay. Because he's all I have. And life is… life is complicated. And once I thought I loved him, and part of me still does.

Shame floods me and tears start crowding my eyes again. I get into bed, pulling the covers over me until I'm in a soft white cocoon.

It's only then that I allow myself to lose it properly. I cry until I can't breathe, until my chest aches, until the sheets are damp; uncomfortable against my skin.

And, eventually, I succumb to restless, uneasy sleep.

...

It's Friday night and I'm parked up in the lot of some dingy motel off the freeway, waiting. It's after ten, clouds dusted with pink fast being eaten up by the dark as the sun sinks behind the horizon.

Two days and I haven't seen James in either of them. He'll be back soon, he always is. He texts me once, telling me he's left the burner and money in the safe at the diner.

_You know what to do _

No apologies, no begging. It makes my blood boil that he's not even bothered enough to ask how I am. If I were dead, how would he even know? I had a laugh at that and then I cried because it says it all. He doesn't care.

Black and blue hidden underneath carefully styled hair and a ton of makeup, a Band-Aid on my brow, trying to keep the cut protected. It's lucky the weather has cooled the last few days because otherwise this shit would slide straight off my face.

I rub my hands down bare legs trying to warm them up, tugging blue hoodie sleeves over my fists. I'm tempted to put the engine on to keep the chill from my skin, but I don't want to waste the gas.

Instead, I watch the entrance to the lot, as cars whizz by on the freeway, the occasional person walking past, looking at the motel with distaste; it's that kind of place. Dilapidated and seedy.

Five minutes pass before the same beamer turns in; I recognize it instantly, my heart speeding up, headlights momentarily blinding as they park next to me.

I made sure I was here before they said this time, not wanting to piss anyone off. It gave me a little more time, the occasional dizzy spell still happening. Searching the internet has told me that's normal for a head injury. A concussion. I guess I shouldn't be driving at all but I don't really have a choice.

Shivering, I get out the car, slamming the door behind me before the engine of the beamer is even off. A breeze rustles the trees we're parked under, blowing through the thin material of my hoodie and even thinner jersey dress I threw on after work. I knew I should've worn jeans instead, but the weather recently has made me forget how cold normal summer nights can get.

"Doll," Alec greets as he gets out the beamer with a smirk. He sticks hands in his pockets and walks over to me, the ground crunching beneath his feet, curly head bowed slightly against the wind.

"Just can't stay away now, can you?"

His greeting is markedly different from the first time. He's more relaxed, and it makes me feel a little less on edge, though the wariness still lingers. I know he's not someone who I want to get on the wrong side of.

"Something like that."

"Your friend not with you tonight?"

"No," I say, wishing desperately that she was. I've been avoiding her, which feels completely wrong because it's Charlotte. I just need a little more time before I see her. Before she sees me.

Masen exits the driver side as he walks over to join us, appraising the lot with a twist of his head this way and that. He adjusts his black jacket across broad shoulders, double shoulder holster standing out against his white t-shirt. It's not surprising to me that he's carrying. He gives me a jerky nod of his head in greeting and heat blossoms on my cheeks; he's just as fine as I remember. Straight nose, sharp jawline, scruff on his face. God.

"And James? Where's he tonight?"

"I don't know," I sigh tiredly, attention returning to Alec.

"You don't seem to know a lot, do you?"

It stings because he's right.

"I'm not his keeper," I respond irritation lacing my words.

"And yet _you're_ here."

He's amused, and it doesn't escape me that his eyes linger on my face a little too long. I don't reply; I don't need to dignify an answer. I think my silence tells them everything they need to know. I'm not his keeper, he is _mine_.

"You got what I need?" Alec reaches out a large hand, gold rings adorning a couple of fingers. I nod silently, pulling out an envelope much thicker than the last from my bag.

"Good girl," he drawls taking it from me. I'm not sure whether he means to be patronizing, but he is.

His cell rings suddenly, loud in the quiet of the lot and he excuses himself, stalking away and leaving Masen and I standing together, alone.

We're silent for too long and it's so awkward, I kind of want to disappear.

Masen slides out a pack of Marlboro and a Zippo lighter from his pockets. He sparks up, cupping one hand against the wind as he intakes sharply.

"You want one?" he says, his low voice startling me.

"Sure."

I swallow as he offers his pack to me, fumbling as I take one out, heat rising again in my cheeks. Slipping it between my lips, I hold my hand out for his lighter but he ignores it, leaning in, hand coming round to protect the flame, fingers so close to my face he could touch me. In fact, he's so close I can smell him; subtle citrus, fresh.

I drawback, hardly breathing as I catch his eye and smile, heart beating wildly.

"Thanks."

"No worries."

We're quiet again and I'm not sure what to say, he's hella hot, and it's intimidating. I look up, exhaling into the night sky.

I guess, usually, Charlotte's the one who introduces me to people. She's always got something to say and conversation bounces off her. Without her I'm at a loss, stumbling like I can't quite get out the blocks.

"What happened to your face?"

The question hangs in the air and I look at him wide-eyed, my hand flying up to my hair, covering that side of my face quickly. I didn't realize he'd been looking.

The truth weighs heavily on me. Everyone at work has accepted my twisted version of the truth; I walked into a door, but I'm not sure Masen is that gullible. My gut tells me he's not. The truth isn't something I want to divulge to a stranger either.

"Nothing ... just clumsy."

I try to keep my tone casual. It isn't a lie; I'm definitely clumsy, just not in the way this implies. Clumsy with the truth. I should have kept my mouth shut. None of this would have happened had I kept things to myself.

Masen studies me for what feels like an age and for once I feel completely exposed, like he's seeing what others don't, or try not to. Or see and don't care.

"You sure 'bout that?" he asks, searching my face. His words are so sure, like he knows. Aside from Charlotte, no one reads me like this. Charlotte can tell I'm lying a mile off, everyone else just accepts whatever bullshit excuse I give.

I look at my feet, nudging the toes of my pumps into the dirt ground.

"I'm sure."

For some reason, I feel the need to tell him something else. Something real. I mean, I don't even know him; but I think I want to.

The thought lingers in the silence between us.

"I broke this arm in two places when I was seven," I say before I can stop myself. I point to my right arm. "I tripped over on a hike."

Masen's eyebrows raise into his tousled mop of hair. "Yeah?" His lips tug into a smile and he looks so fucking good. I let out a breath.

"Yeah, such a clutz as a kid. My um, Dad always..." I trail off. What I'm doing here? I never talk about my Papà. Never.

"Your Dad?" Masen prompts, eyes not leaving me.

"Always said I was trouble," I chew out finally.

"What's he say about you now?" Masen presses. I bite my lip, averting my eyes for a second before returning my gaze to his.

"He don't say nothin'. We don't talk anymore."

Masen's smile fades, his eyebrows drawing together in a frown. I take a long drag, holding the smoke in my lungs until it makes my head dizzy.

"You have a fallout?"

"I guess … He's in State. Doing twenty-five to life. Don't want anything to do with him," I respond, not even trying to stop the resentment that seeps out with every word.

"No shit," Masen exhales. "Fuck." He runs a hand through his hair and scrubs down the stubble on his face. "What'd he do?"

"What didn't he do? Look, I don't really wanna talk about it, it's my fault, I bought him up but can we just—"

"It's cool," Masen interrupts. "I'm easy, we all got shit we don't like talkin' about, right?"

He's like a breath of fresh air and all of a sudden I'm feeling at ease. It's nice not feeling on edge, not having to justify myself, even though I find myself doing just that.

"Yeah. Sorry, people just normally want the whole story, you know?"

"Yeah. I do."

We're quiet again and I wonder where Alec has disappeared off to. I see him on his cell in the distance. I could leave, he has the money after all.

Masen follows my eyes.

"Stay," he says as if reading my mind. "Until he comes back."

"Sure." Tossing my cigarette, I stub it out, wrapping my arms around myself as another cool blast of night air whips around, watching Alec pace, gesticulating angrily.

"Is he always so ... expressive?" I ask after a moment.

Masen laughs.

"You could say that," he smirks slightly. "Fuckin' Italians."

The surprise on my face must be self-evident.

"You literally have no fuckin' idea, do you?" Masen says, derision in his voice. "Who your boy's involved with?"

I frown, shaking my head. "I guess not."

My insides churn. Nonna. Nonno. Mamma. _Papà_.

Alec saunters slowly back over, taking out bundled stacks of notes and thumbing through them as he approaches.

I shift anxiously, waiting with bated breath as he gets closer. Reaching the end of the bundles, he stops to look at me, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

And I know then, right then… it's not all there.

Alec strides over and I'm frozen. _James_. He must have known he was short.

"Not even close," he says roughly, his voice low and dangerous, the pretence of niceness long gone. "Where's the rest, Doll, huh?"

My mouth doesn't seem to be working and I balk as he takes another step towards me, fingers latching onto my arm, uncomfortably tight.

"Get off me!" I snarl, finding my voice, I try yanking my arm away but his grip is too firm.

"Where's the rest of the money?" he growls.

"I don't—I don't know!"

My breathing becomes more and more erratic as panic flares through every inch of skin, his closeness smothering, his voice making me feel dizzy. I need to get away before this descends into a full-blown panic attack.

Just when I think I'm going to lose it, Masen is there, coming between us, in Alec's face, hand on his chest.

"C'mon man, you're scaring her… she don't know anything," his voice is deadly calm. "Look at her."

Alec stares at me for a moment, then between Masen and me, lip curling into a sneer.

He lets go and I snatch my arm back holding it close, rubbing where his fingers have been.

"That true? Or are you just tryin' to buy your man some more time?" he jabs a finger at me accusingly.

"What? No!"

"Smart of him, I give you that but not smart enough. How about I take you as leverage, huh? You wanna come work off your boy's debts?" He laughs unkindly, eyes dark.

"Alec!" Masen says sharply.

"I don't—I don't know anything, I swear!"

Alec glares.

"You tell that motherfucking piece of shit I know _exactly_ what he's doing! He got twenty-four fuckin' hours to get us what he owes; otherwise, I'm comin' for him," he spits, breathing hard.

He shoulder barges Masen as he stalks past toward the beamer, a flurry of anger.

I look skyward blinking back tears, my heart palpitating, my knees weak.

"You OK?" Masen asks, concern in his voice, on his face, in those dark eyes.

"Why are you still here?"

I see him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing as he regards me with a look I can't quite place.

"I just want to make sure you're alright. Sorry, if he scared you."

I shrug it off. "Nothing I'm not used to," I say before I can stop myself. Then, "Did he mean it?"

"What?"

"That he'd take me as leverage?"

Masen's silent for a second.

"Alec doesn't say things he doesn't mean," he says eventually, his voice rough. "But he thinks you're in on whatever game James is playin' ... he sees it as fair."

"Great." I laugh and then a solitary tear falls and I wipe it away, embarrassed. "I'm not. I really don't know."

Masen levels me with a steady gaze, watching as another tear rolls down my cheek.

"I believe you," he says heavily, hand running through his hair. "Just get James to pay up what he owes and there won't be any issues."

"And if he don't?"

"Then, we're coming for him."

…

I think about it all the way home. This whole fucked up situation. James is in a heap of trouble and I want to know why.

Maybe I can help him dig himself out of the hole he's in if he tells me what's going on. I doubt he would though, and even if he did… why _should_ I help? With the way he treats me; like a possession, something he owns—gives, takes, breaks, and loves us and when he pleases.

_Alec wants the rest of the money. 24 hours or he's coming._

My hand hovers over the send button, lip between my teeth.

I hit send.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

I don't notice them until I do, and then I pretend I haven't. A tray of dirty plates and glasses in my hands giving me a reason to flee into the back of the diner.

Hurrying into the kitchen, I dump the tray down heavily, taking out my phone and checking the time. Sure enough, it's just after ten. Like clockwork, I guess.

"You alright, Bella?" Fat Bob asks, wiping his sweaty brow with a dishcloth then slinging it back over his shoulder. "Lookin' like you've seen a ghost."

"Yeah," I say, voice a higher pitch than normal. "Yeah, fine."

Jenny comes in a second later, chewing gum and looking slightly irritated. "Bella, ya wanted out there, that group of goons are askin' for James," she says with a jerk of her thumb, long hot pink nail pointing to the front. "Ya know 'em?"

I know she's fishing for gossip. She thrives on it, but I'm not giving her anything.

"I don't know," I lie.

I'm sure of one thing. If they're here, it means James didn't settle what he owes. He never replied to my text, and he's still nowhere to be seen.

Three days have passed, and it feels like a lifetime. Where the fuck is he?

Wiping down clammy hands on my apron, I bring one up to swipe at my hair and face, self-consciously. Heaven knows why, they aren't here for me. At least I hope not.

Cool air hits me as I walk back out front, legs feeling weak, mouth cotton ball dry.

Alec is leaning casually against the counter, his whole attitude cold, aloof—bored, even. Ben by his side almost a little too gleeful, his beady eyes brightening considerably when they land on me. He tilts his head in my direction, but Masen has already seen me, his mouth set into a tight grim line.

"Not here, then?" Alec asks his voice low.

"No."

"You know where he is then?"

"No. I told you I don't."

Alec smiles, but it doesn't meet those cold eyes of his. He brings himself closer to me, leaning even further forward over the counter, hands splayed.

"The problem here is I just don't believe you. You're not doing yourself any favors here, Bella."

His gaze falls on my dress and he looks me up and down from head to toe, sniffing disparagingly.

"Pity."

I swallow hard, face feeling hot.

"I'm not lying. I haven't seen him in days."

Alec pulls out a cigarette and lights it.

"You can't do that here."

He looks at me coolly, peppering the counter with ash. He doesn't reply, instead; he inclines his head to Masen and Ben.

My eyes widen as Ben slips a wrench from his sleeve onto the palm of a gloved hand and strides over to the windows without so much as a pause.

"What are you—" I say but my voice is lost when he brings his arm back and swings at the glass, a cacophony of smashing, crashing, and shattering as he wields the wrench indiscriminately.

There are screams and gasps as the few customers here scramble to get out, fleeing. My hand flies up to my mouth as I look on, horror-struck, feet glued to the floor.

Masen leaps over the counter in one swift movement until he's so close I'm staring at his black-clad chest. So close, my breathing hitches.

I daren't look up at him as he pushes me aside gently, before pacing up and down behind the counter like a caged animal. He trails a gloved hand along the shelves of glasses as he goes, sweeping them all to the floor, the noise deafening as they smash.

Arms flexing, he pulls the coffee machine over, as if it weighs nothing, the loud thud as it crashes to the floor making me jolt. The slushy machine is next, staining the floor blue, then the tills, the bottled drinks, the fridges…

Jenny comes out and starts screaming so loud I can't even hear any words. Fat Bob peering out from behind her as she freezes in the doorway.

"The hell?" he exclaims. Jenny turns fast on her kitten heels fleeing under Fat Bob's arm, him not quite so quick in turning, as they leg it out of sight. If they have any sense, they'll get out the back and stay out.

Masen and Ben ransack the place in less than five minutes: the windows are smashed, the table and chairs upturned, even the damn ceiling fans are on the floor. They disappear into the back and I hear them crashing around in the kitchen, Ben whooping and laughing.

Eyes unable to take much more destruction means my legs and feet are moving before I can even think. I just need to get out of here.

Alec stops me. Stepping in front of me, tutting. "No. You stay."

I recoil as he brings a hand to my face, stroking my cheek softly with the back of a crooked finger

"I told you I'd be coming for him. This is what happens when your man gets too big for his Goddamn boots. He owes me big. You just wait until I get my hands on him. If you think this is bad, Doll..." he whistles low.

Masen makes himself known, glass crunching underfoot. He looks annoyed as he stops in front of us.

"Are we done here?" he says impatiently, "Cops will be here any minute."

"You sure you don't want to work off his debt? So many opportunities for a girl like you," Alec says, ignoring Masen.

"A girl like me?" I reply dumbly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

There's the faint sound of sirens in the distance.

"Alec! We gotta go, man." There's more urgency in Masen's voice now.

"CCTV?" Alec asks me ignoring my question, ignoring Masen, hand moving away.

"In the office," I whisper as Ben takes off, smashing and hitting things as he goes.

"Mouth shut, when the cops show up, you got it?" Alec warns and it's all I can do to nod my head. He smirks. "You let me know if you change your mind. This place won't be open for a while."

They're gone moments later. I hear the screeching of tires in the lot and then I'm alone, in a sea of destruction, wailing sirens getting closer, the sound of glass smashing ringing in my ears.

...

The cops show up and so do Jenny and Fat Bob. Jenny is uncharacteristically quiet and when she gives her statement; she deliberately leaves out the fact that they were looking for James. I think she's always had a bit of a soft spot for him. Her way of keeping his name out of trouble, at least with the cops.

Fat Bob is the same, grunting answers. He was in the kitchen; he tells them. Didn't get a clear look at their faces, fled out back.

Or maybe they both recognize this for what it is.

When it comes to my turn, I'm wringing my hands, telling them as much as I can without specifics, not outright lying, but half-truths. It feels wrong, I'm sure I'm breaking laws here but what am I supposed to do?

I think we're all relieved when they finally leave.

Jenny rings a guy she knows to come and board the windows up; secure the place temporarily, not that there's much left to take even if someone wanted to. Fat Bob grunts about how he needs to get home as it's way past closing. And I... I phone James.

I need reassurance he's OK, that he's going to sort this out. Alec is right, this place isn't going to be open again anytime soon. We're still not paid up on rent and with this our sole legit source of income. I dread to think. The phone goes straight to voicemail and my head explodes into profanities.

Jenny slopes off after her guy finishes boarding the place over. He's banging on about good for nothin' thugs and how they'll get what's coming to them. Somehow, I highly doubt that.

As a parting shot, Jenny asks me to let James know she might have to find other work if this place isn't back up to running in the next few days. I can only nod. Understandable, I guess.

...

Sweeping and sweeping and sweeping; glass tinkling along into a dustpan, then into a bin. And repeat. There's so much of it, it's endless and I eventually have to stop and sit for a minute, my head in my hands, irritated now that Fat Bob and Jenny didn't stay to help, not that I can blame them. They won't get paid for this. I won't get paid for this.

I hear the door swing open.

"We're closed; if the sign outside ain't a clue."

I lift my head when there's no reply or movement.

He stands in the doorway and for a second I think I might be hallucinating. When I blink rapidly he's still there, standing tall and broad.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I ask through gritted teeth, getting to my feet. "Get the fuck out."

I point at the door but Masen doesn't move.

"Get the fuck out!" I say again, stepping towards him, glass cracking under my feet. "Haven't you done enough? Get out, get out, GET OUT!"

"Bella," he says softly, like he's trying to tame a kitten. It's the first time he's said my name, and it's like sunlight on my skin, a warm flush running through me. "Let me help."

I laugh, incredulous. "Are you being fuckin' serious right now?"

I half turn away from him but he's walking over to me, reaching out, fingertips on my shoulder.

I shrug him off, away.

"Don't—just don't."

"I'm sorry," he says as if that makes anything better. "I follow orders—you understand?" And I do, more than he knows, but it doesn't change anything.

He stays despite my refusal to engage with him at all and it only infuriates me more.

He doesn't try to talk to me either, working alongside me silently.

My mind seethes with questions.

I'm thinking it over so hard I think my eyebrows might permanently fuse together, clenching my teeth so hard my jaw aches. I don't understand. I don't get it. Why the hell is he here?

I cut myself just when I think I'm about to explode, a large piece of glass slipping through my fingers slicing through the fleshy bit of palm near my thumb, as if it were made out of butter.

The glass shatters on the floor and my hand starts dripping with blood immediately, drops splattering my pink dress, and the floor. "Fuck."

I head for the sink, grabbing a paper towel and turning on the water, rinsing the cut and then pressing the towel to it. Masen approaches, taking my hand wordlessly in his.

I notice grazes on his knuckles, short clean fingernails and how much bigger his hands are than mine.

"Shit," he swears as he removes the paper towel, inspecting the damage. "This is pretty deep."

"There's a first aid kit in the back."

He disappears, returning with the green kit, rummaging for a bandage and padding. He's gentle as he winds the bandage around my hand, a look of concentration on his face.

I'm not so mad at him anymore.

"You're gonna need this looked at," he says as the blood starts to blossom through. "Needs stitches."

"I can't go to the ER," I tell him, panicking. "It'll stop."

He shakes his head doubtfully, running a hand through his hair. "I might know someone. Just give me a minute. OK?"

He waits for my agreement before taking out his cell, taking a minute before pressing it to his ear. It rings for the longest of times.

"It's me," he says eventually his voice quiet, walking further away.

...

I don't resist Masen's insistence we leave. In fact, I'm almost glad to be getting out of there.

I get my bag from the back, wordlessly; walking through the destruction to the front door. It'll have to wait until tomorrow. Or later today. It's past three in the morning. Worryingly the bandage is soaked through, bright red drops dripping and twisting down my arm.

Masen walks behind me leaning over to open the door. I'm hyper-aware of his proximity, feeling his hand on the small of my back, as we walk out into the cool night air. His touch so light it might have been an accident. My heart flutters in betrayal, anger ebbing into a nervousness.

The street is quiet, the wind blowing my dress up slightly as I try to smooth it down. My car is in the corner of the small lot and I'm expecting to see the sleek black beamer I'm used to but it's nowhere to be found.

Masen starts walking over to a black Mustang instead, unlocking it from meters away so the whole lot is bathed in orange light for a few seconds.

"Where's the beamer?" I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

"Not here."

"So what's this?"

"It's a car," Masen replies dryly, opening the passenger door. "Get in."

I hesitate. It doesn't seem like a great idea all of a sudden, to go with a stranger.

"Bella, just get in the damn car before I strap you in myself."

The thought is enough to make my tired head spin.

"Fine."

"Just try not to bleed everywhere," he grimaces as he gets in the driver side, slamming the door closed.

The car smells like new and is absolutely spotless. I look down at my white apron and cheap polyester dress smeared with blood and food from a long evening and feel so out of place.

The engine roars to life, loud in the quietness of the night as Masen pulls away. I watch fascinated as his arm muscles ripple with every upshift of the gear stick.

I realize I've been staring, so I avert my eyes to the window as the city passes by. I'm not really paying attention to where we're going and part of me can't believe that I've entertained this.

I don't even know him.

I sit back in the black leather seat, picking at a loose thread on the hem of my dress. Masen slows at a red light and glances over.

"Holding up OK?" he asks, attention drawn to the blood-soaked bandage. "Not gonna pass out on me?"

"Not really. I mean, I'm not really that bad with blood and stuff. I'm fine. Apart from this." I raise my hand. "Sorry. I'm so tired. Where are we going?"

Masen shoots an amused smile my way.

"A friend of mine owes me a favor, so I'm callin' it in."

...

The city streets are practically deserted at this time in the morning, and he drives fast. Taking us out west, to the nice, affluent part of the city.

Eventually, he pulls into a street lined with brownstones, parking outside a pretty bay-fronted property with roses climbing up the side. It's the kind of house that's loved and cared for; a stark contrast to what I'm used to.

Masen tells me to wait so he can open my door. It's kind of unnecessary, I still have a perfectly fine hand, but the sentiment is sweet.

He leads the way up stone steps as I trail after him, tugging at my dress, conscious of how I look when we're in a neighbourhood like this, even if it is the early hours of the morning.

If Masen notices, he doesn't say anything. Instead, he rings the doorbell a couple of times and stands back, seemingly at ease, turning out to look at the street.

The door opens behind him and a blond-haired man appears looking bleary-eyed, like we've just woken him, scruff on his chin.

"Masen," he greets curtly. "And you must be…"

"Bella," I supply, offering a small smile.

"Come on in then, but please be quiet my wife is sleeping." He ushers us into a huge hall, so big I think it's practically the size of mine and James' whole apartment. It's all I can do not to go slack in the jaw.

I find myself pouring over the decor. Painted in white and soft neutral shades, a large chandelier casting light onto tasteful black and white framed pictures. It's like something out of Elle freakin' Decor.

I wander slowly after Masen and his friend, down a corridor until we get to a small office room at the back of the house.

Cosy and full of dark wood furniture, there's floor to ceiling shelves lined with books and as I scan the titles, I realise they're all medical field related. Neurology, general surgery, journals, best practise, ethics…

Masen pulls out a black leather chair from the other side of the desk.

"Take a seat."

I sit down, tucking my dress underneath the backs of my legs so they don't stick to the leather as the blond-haired doctor closes the door firmly behind him.

"How can I help? It's early and I have a week of twelve-hour shifts starting in about... four hours," he says glancing at a clock on the wall.

I hold out my hand, removing the bandage, instead of trying to explain. Masen leans casually back against the bookcase opposite, folding his arms.

"I see."

Doc nods and moves around the office, pulling out a few things from a drawer, washing his hands in a little sink in the corner I hadn't noticed, before pulling on blue clinical gloves. He sits close before giving me a reassuring smile as he takes in my hand and then looks at my face.

A small frown appears, eyes roaming from the bruises around my eye and cheek to the Band-Aid covering my brow, he looks toward Masen warily and back to me just as quickly.

"Just hold still," he says as he examines my hand. "Can you turn that light on, Masen?" A bright light from the desk switches on as the Doc assesses my hand closely.

He takes out a saline solution and wipes down my hand methodically, before applying a cream.

"Numbs the area, you'll still feel something, but it's better than nothing. Stitches I'm afraid, it's quite deep. You might have some nerve damage because of where it is, so I recommend you visit your _actual_ doctor for a follow-up. Is it your dominant hand?"

I shake my head, feeling uncomfortable. I haven't got an actual doctor, I never registered with a practice since we moved here.

"Well, that's something," he pauses and glances at Masen again. "Why don't you let me have a look at your face whilst we're waiting for that to work, hmm?"

I'm a little taken back.

"OK," I say, my voice small. He's careful removing my Band-Aid and then tuts.

"You needed to get this seen when it first happened. It's not big but some stitches will do a much better job than a Band-Aid, it'll minimise the chance of scarring," he reprimands, bluntly. He's so close I can see the wrinkles around his eyes. "Don't really want a scar on that pretty face, do you?"

"Didn't realize it was that bad," I mumble, feeling embarrassed.

"Can you tell me what happened?" his fingers press and probe around my cheekbone. I wince, the whole area still feeling sore.

What to tell him? Is it OK to tell the truth? I decide against it. I don't really want to share.

"I felt really faint and managed to hit my face on the door as I passed out… woke up with this," I stammer, thinking on my feet.

"How long were you out?"

"I dunno, I was on my own."

He takes out a little penlight, shining it in my eyes.

"And you just passed out randomly?" Doc probes, "You weren't sick before? You didn't feel dizzy or light-head? Stand up too quick?"

"Um. No-no."

"Is there any possibility you're pregnant?"

My mouth falls open in surprise because it wasn't a question I was expecting. I try to think back to when I last had my period, which was… I can't exactly remember but not too long ago I don't think.

I shrug a little. I guess there's always a possibility isn't there? But the thought of being pregnant… God. I feel myself pale.

"So is that a yes or a no?"

"Carlisle, c'mon," Masen interrupts. "I asked you to do me a favor, not this shit."

Carlisle tenses, his jaw tight and swivels around on his chair to jab accusingly at Masen.

"No. You listen here, Masen. You bring this- this -_girl_ here, to my house at almost four in the Goddamn morning and want me to fix her up for you, then that's what I'm doing. That includes covering how and why she got these injuries—if there's an underlying reason that may be an issue, so I can treat her appropriately." He swings back to me. "These facial injuries are _not_ consistent with an accident. It's quite clear that something is going on here. If you're lying to protect him," he jerks his thumb over his shoulder. "Then you can tell me and I'll hand him over to the cops myself."

"What?" I exclaim just as Masen scoffs.

"I wouldn't ever lay my hands on a woman, Carlisle and you know it," he says angrily.

"He's just helping me," I add, still reeling.

"Fine. But this is the last favor I do you," he jabs a finger again at Masen. "Bringing this to my doorstep with my wife upstairs. Unbelievable."

Masen nods, face grim. "If that's how you want it to be."

Doc - Carlisle - continues his assessment with quick professionalism after his outburst.

"Have you had any nausea since? Dizziness? Can you remember what happened when you woke up?"

"Some nausea, I guess. I feel OK."

"You've probably got a very mild concussion," Doc says quite matter-of-factly, confirming what the internet had already told me. "You might experience some loss of balance, headaches, nausea, and dizziness over the next few weeks. Let's get these stitched up, shall we?"

Doc works quietly, the office stiflingly too small and tense. An occasional look at Masen tells me he's pissed; fists clenched, a tick in his jaw.

The needle going in and out feels strange, pulling and tugging at my skin. I can feel, but it doesn't hurt. I watch with fascination as Doc finishes before dressing it.

"Don't get it wet, try not to use it, change it every two to three days just like I've done now. Stitches will need to come out in a couple of weeks."

He inspects my cut on my eyebrow again.

"I'm going to open this up a little and use dissolvable stitches, as it's already trying to close over, it'll be neater."

It only needed a couple, and he hands me a small mirror after he's done.

"Can't promise it won't leave a scar, but I've done my best."

"Thank you so much." I'm no expert but the stitches look neat and tidy to me. I try to ignore how haggard I look; the bags under my eyes the hollow of my cheeks, how my lips stand out against washed-out skin. I'm a mess.

Masen pushes off the bookcase. "All good?" he asks me.

"Yeah. Um, thank you."

I can sense Doc's eyes dancing between us as he clears up.

"Come on," Masen says, "Let's get outta here."

I follow him to the office door but Doc's voice calls from behind us:

"Can I talk to you, Masen, before you leave?"

I excuse myself to wait outside in the hallway. Busying myself with looking at the pictures on the walls.

A particularly large one of the Doc on his wedding day in black and white catches my eye. His bride looks absolutely stunning, her face lit up in happiness. I can't remember ever feeling like that, so happy, relaxed, carefree. It must be nice.

I can hear the sound of sharp loud voices down the hall. I slow my footsteps and listened hard.

"—you?" I hear Doc say, muffled.

Masen laughs bitingly. "Fuck you. I'm not—" I can't hear the rest as his voice drops low.

"Well, good—"

"—just mind your own..."

"—bring her here?"

"As if I give a fuck, Carl!"

There're heavy footsteps and I move a bit further away, wondering what they're arguing about.

Masen comes striding towards me, his expression furious. He opens the front door of the house and beckons me to follow.

I trail after him, wary of how his demeanour has switched up, a little apprehensive.

Tonight I've a been a witness to what he does for Alec, just because he's told to, and then this- where he's helped me just because. It jars. The two parts of him don't quite match up, don't quite fit together.

I follow him slowly, thinking maybe I should make my own way home, the buses will be running soon. I keep my distance until he reaches the car and looks around for me, seeing I'm still at the top of the steps.

His attitude changes instantly, his shoulders dropping, his face softening. He sighs, hand in his hair, scrubbing the back of his neck.

"Bella," he says, apologetic, his tone saying things he isn't. I practically melt.

He checks his watch.

"Breakfast?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

I stare at Masen a little too long because he laughs, stuffing hands in his pockets.

"Or not?"

My eyes flit up to the sky, faint hints of light, chasing away the night. I can't really grasp how much has happened in such a short space of time. How I've ended up here. With him.

He's lighting up a cigarette when I look back to him, wavering like a leaf in a breeze.

I need a shower; I need sleep; I need to change. There's still the diner to sort out. And then there's James, who's a different sort of problem. Food would be a start though. More than anything, there's something about Masen that makes me want to say yes.

I walk down the steps towards him slowly, until I'm no longer taller than him and he's at eye level, watching me.

"OK," I tell him, softly.

His lips curl up.

My heart skips.

"OK."

...

He drives us downtown, the sky a kaleidoscope of pale pinks and oranges, the radio playing faintly in the background.

"Carlisle is my half-brother," Masen says. "Older. Gets under my skin. Sorry, if you thought I was mad at you back there."

"Oh." They don't look related at all. I would never have guessed it he hadn't said. "Same Mom or Dad?"

"Mom."

I can't imagine him being around a Mom, with how he is. Tough, rough around the edges. I wonder what she's like. Does she know what he does?

"Are you close? With your Mom?" I hear myself asking.

"Lunch most Sundays, two phone calls a week... she's like that," he smiles faintly before a dark look passes over and the smile is gone, a line appearing on his forehead as he frowns.

We lapse into silence. I'm in that kind of tired haze that makes formulating a sentence such an effort and family talk isn't my favorite subject, anyway. It's not uncomfortable though, not like before.

Instead, I watch the sleepy city pass by; the window cracked down just enough for the cold breeze to keep me conscious, blowing strands of hair across my face. I tilt my head back against the headrest, closing my eyes for just a few minutes, listening to the radio and the rumble of the engine.

When it slows down to a tick over, I open them, seeing we've pulled into a McDonald's drive-through.

"Know what you want?" Masen asks, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Uh." He gives me a minute as I squint at the menu, indecisive, thinking about how little money I have to last me till next week if James still hasn't shown up. "Are you sure? I can't, um... I can't pay you back."

"I'm not expectin' you to."

I chew my lip and then say OK, telling him I want the full breakfast biscuit and an OJ.

"Normally have coffee but y'know, I want to sleep later."

Nothing is coming between me and sleep when I finally get the chance, not even coffee. Masen smiles, rubbing a finger across his lips, slowly creeping the car forward until it's our turn.

I watch him as he orders his coffee black with one sugar, and exactly the same breakfast as me, but with extra bacon. He pays cash, a wallet full of crisp bills, telling the teenage boy at the window to put the change in the charity box.

We're not waiting long to collect at the next window and Masen passes me the familiar brown bag, the warmth of the food pleasant on my bare legs as I hold on to it with my good hand, the smell of it making my stomach growl, feeling almost giddy with hunger.

I'm expecting us to park up in the lot, but Masen pulls out into the road impatiently, foot heavy on the gas.

"Where we going now?"

"Breakfast with a view."

He drives us to the old Navy Pier. I can see it stretching out into the lake, all the little shops tightly shut up for hours yet. The big wheel standing silently, catching the dawn rays, seagulls drifting over head. There's hardly a soul around. In a few hours, it'll be teeming, so I soak it up—the stillness, as Masen parks the car close.

Dark red blood all down my dress catches my eye as I get out the car. Usually, I have a spare change of clothes in my bag, but as I was working until close, I assumed I'd be going straight home so I hadn't bothered.

Masen takes one look at me and shrugs his hoodie off his shoulders.

"Won't you be cold?" I ask, feeling bad as he passes it to me, eyeing the gun in his shoulder holster—only one this time—a pang of apprehension. He takes black metal and tucks it behind his back, the movement stretching his t-shirt tight across his chest before throwing his holster in the car.

"It's fine."

It feels weird putting his hoodie on, too heavy on my shoulders, rough on my arms. It smells like him: citrus fresh. I have to stop myself from inhaling too deeply because it's intoxicating. It's way too big, falling to mid-thigh, but it's better than nothing.

"Up for a walk along here?" he nods towards the pier adjusting his t-shirt so I see a flash of toned stomach as I fish my hair out the back of his hoodie.

"Not like I've got anywhere else to go," I joke, crossing my arms, hand starting to feel more sore as the numbing cream wears off. We wander along, slowly, Masen keeping in step with me, looking around and over his shoulder a few times.

He does that a lot. Enough for me to notice. So I tell him.

"Habit," he says. "Pays off to look out for trouble."

"You see trouble now?" I question looking up and down the pier.

"Yeah," he says seriously, making me startle. He's looking at me with dark solemn eyes. "Standing five five and wearing my hoodie."

"Oh, har-har. Funny," I say, face heating. He laughs, a wide easy grin on his face making him look more boyish and less brooding, less intimidating, but so insanely attractive.

"This is the quietest I've ever seen this place," I say, looking around. "When I first moved here I'd walk up and down here lookin' for work. Thought it'd be nice working out here, especially in the summer months."

"You not from around here?" Masen quizzes.

"Chicago? No. Born in Queens, raised in Phoenix."

"Big moves."

"I guess."

We stop at a bench and sit facing out to the water. I stretch tan legs out in front of me, pleased I've managed to gain some color from the hot weather even if the rest of me is a hot mess.

Masen sits so closely I can feel the heat from his thigh. Offering the bag to me first so I can take my breakfast out, the first bite is so good I hum.

"Where'd you like livin' the most?" Masen asks, a pause in his eating.

"I'm—Well, I don't really remember Queens—that was before... I was too young really, but Phoenix was cool. I miss the heat and drivin' out to the lakes in the summer. Chicago is too cold in the winter." I wrinkle my nose, thinking back to last winter when I swore I'd die. The heating stopped working in an even shittier apartment than we live in now, ice on the inside of the windows.

"Are you from here?"

"Close by… Evanston." He takes a sip of his coffee. "You been here long?"

"Long enough," I say, more to myself than to Masen.

It sets my train of thought back to everything that's going on and suddenly I'm not so hungry anymore, that feeling of unsettledness returning full force.

"I don't really…" I begin and trail off, stopping to stare out at the water as it ripples, sunlight bouncing off it. "Why are you doing this?" I blurt out, exhaustion making me brave.

Masen is blank when I look at him. Like the first time I saw him, he's difficult to read. He doesn't say anything for a beat so I carry on, regardless.

"I don't get why you came back to the diner? Can't imagine Alec would like it… unless, unless you're trickin' me here? Like, trying to get me to talk? About James? I already told you I don't know where he is right—"

"It ain't—it ain't like that," Masen interrupts, "I know you don't know, I told you that before," he sighs heavily, rubbing his face. "Alec ain't your problem either, I'll deal with him."

"Then why? I don't get you."

He's silent, standing to walk to the railing, staring out at the glittering water, hand gripping his coffee cup.

"Why'd you lie, back there, about what happened to you?" he asks, turning so he's facing me.

"That's not—that's got nothin' to do with anything," I say, immediately defensive.

"Oh, it does," Masen laughs a little venom in his tone. "Is it your boy? He do it often?"

I still, my own fists clenched, awash with feelings of shame. I look at the wooden ground beneath our feet.

"Fuckin' knew it," Masen breathes, taking my silence as confirmation. I stare so hard my eyes blur.

"You remind me of someone I know," Masen says his voice gentle. "I could've helped, I could've done more than what I did... but I didn't and it ended… badly. I always regretted it."

My eyes jerk up to him in surprise, my mind churning, disappointment for some reason blooming in my chest.

"So what… you're doing this out of pity? Like, a sense of duty or some shit?" I say slowly, blood pounding in my ears. I don't know what I thought I was expecting to hear.

This isn't about me, this is about whoever he couldn't help and this is his way of… easing his guilt or something? I mean, part of me was hoping he was doing this because he _liked_ me. Of course, he doesn't see me like that.

He doesn't say anything, but there's a faint flush to his ears, the back of his neck.

"Right," I mumble, nodding.

I know exactly what he pities. What he thinks he knows, but the truth is he doesn't know me like I don't know him, even if he sees this part of me... I don't need someone trying to help me just to ease their own conscience.

"Just for the record, I don't need your pity. I'm not some fuckin' project to make you feel better about whatever fucked up shit happened in your life," I say shakily, angry, still feeling the sting of embarrassment.

He's uneasy as I snap, I can tell by how his body tenses and he looks at me with a wariness that wasn't there before.

"Bella, c'mon, it ain't like that either. I don't—I don't pity you." Masen says roughly. "Fuck."

His words don't touch me though, I'm not really listening anymore. He's being like Charlotte, and I just don't want to hear this stuff right now, when my eyes are itching with exhaustion and my body feels like lead.

"Can you just—can you just drive me to a friend's? I'm really tired of everything right now," I say, folding my arms, tears stinging my eyes.

"Look, I didn't mean—" he tugs at his hair frustratedly, trying to find the right words.

"Just forget it, OK?—like, let's just not have this conversation. Literally, my head is so fucked up right now. I don't know whether I'm coming or going."

I start to walk back down the pier, not waiting for a response, chucking our rubbish in the trash, cradling my bad hand as it starts to throb. Masen follows, his heavy footsteps right behind me.

...

We're pretty much silent on the ride to Charlotte's neighbourhood, me giving him the basic directions. I figure giving him our address is a stupid move, considering who he works for. I also figure if James has come back, I don't want to have to answer to him about where I've been and who I've been with. This wouldn't go down well.

I catch Masen looking over at me in my peripheral vision, looking like he wants to say more but thinking better of it. I kind of wish he would come out with it. I kind of want him to tell me I'm wrong.

I kind of want to be wanted.

By him.

Fucked up as it is.

When Masen pulls up outside of Charlotte's house, he switches off the engine, rubbing at his eyes tiredly.

"Give me your phone," he says just as my good hand is on the door handle.

"What? Why?"

"Please," he says impatiently.

Reluctantly I do, looking at it for the first time in hours. I have a dozen texts from Char stretching back the last few days, all unread, and a couple from Maria.

His fingers fly over the keypad, and then I hear a vibrating sound from his jean pocket.

He hands me back my phone, his eyes roaming my face, sincerity on his own. "If you ever need anything, call me."

I don't have a chance to say anything but dumbly stare at his number, mouth slightly parted, before he's out the car, opening the passenger door once again. I get out slowly and he meets my eyes with a look that makes me feel wobbly inside.

"Thanks," I mumble, beginning to walk up the path to the single-story house Charlotte shares with her momma.

I spin round fully to face him feeling badly about how I've acted. I haven't even properly thanked him, so I do because he didn't have to do any of this and it hits me hard.

"Thanks for, um... thanks for everything, tonight—this morning. Well, not the diner, but thanks for fixin' me up and buying me food. That was… I appreciate you going out your way."

"Anytime."

"I'll, um, I'll see you around."

"Bella," Masen says, an edginess in his voice. "Just—look after yourself, yeah?"

I nod and carry on walking, not daring to look back again. I don't hear the car door; I don't hear the engine, but I do hear the little click click noise of a lighter and a sharp inhale. I know he's watching me.

I knock on Charlotte's bedroom window and then the door. It's a little after six thirty and I'm hoping she's off work today. It takes a little while, but the door opens a crack.

"B? What the hell are you doin'—" she throws the door open a little wider and then her hand flies to her face. "Oh, honey, why didn't you call me back? Why didn't you come to me?" she asks gently as she threads her arms around me, pulling me close, pressing my head into her shoulder. I feel relief more than anything. How good it feels to have her here, with me, right now.

"And what the fuck is he doin' here?"

I choke back a sob and then laugh.

...

We're sitting in Charlotte's kitchen across from each other on little wooden fold-up chairs, two cups of steaming, hot, black coffee between us, needed even though I've slept for something close to fourteen hours.

Once inside her house, she went into mothering mode, running me a bath, helping me undress, washing and drying my hair. She let me have a pair of her yoga pants and a sweater before tucking me into her bed, stroking my hair, telling me to sleep. And then I did. I slept, dreamless for the first time in weeks.

But now it's time for real talk.

And I tell her everything.

I see it all play out in front of me, but it's like I'm watching from the sidelines, disconnected from the reality, like none of this has actually happened to me. The argument, the fight, what I've been doing the past few nights, how much trouble James is in… Masen helping me. It all literally spills from my mouth in a torrent I can't stop.

She doesn't interrupt for a change.

When I finish my voice feels hoarse and I'm chewing my lip, staring at my fingernails, bitten and chipped, as if they hold all the answers.

"What do I do?" I say hopelessly finally looking up. "Be real with me. My head is so fucked, I'm so confused."

Charlotte's thoughtful for a second, tucking curly hair behind her ears.

"You know what I'd do, B," she says with a sigh, leaning back in her chair. "I'd throw that asshole to the wolves and enjoy them ripping him apart. You deserve better than this. And I know you know it too, deep down. You know this is bullshit. It's not normal how he treats you—it's not healthy, it's fuckin' toxic…"

She trails off for a second, reaching over and clasping my hand with her warm one over the table.

"I was worried when you stopped replyin' to my texts. I thought he'd—I thought he might've gone too far this time... I was going to ring around the hospitals this morning. You scared me, B."

"I know." I croak. "I'm so sorry, I just—I needed to clear my head, but it's just even more messed up."

"Hey, s'all good, don't _you_ freakin' apologize. I'm just glad you're here. None of this is your fault. None of it! All of this is on him."

I fixate most on the fact that she doesn't think any of this is my fault. The thought troubles me because I'm not sure she's right. I think there's blame to lay at my door, for sure.

"Please, B, please just—leave him."

"And then what, Char? He's all I have! I rely on him for my job, my money, a roof over my head… it's not as simple as just leaving!" I cry counting things on my fingers. "Part of me still loves him, I-I just want him to be who he was before all this!"

"He ain't gonna change back, Bella! Men like that never do! He's just gonna get worse and worse the longer you stay. He's a possessive, controllin' asshole and that ain't—that ain't love, B."

We're quiet, my mind humming, a frown on my face, a shake to my hand as I reach for my coffee. To actually leave him? He's all I've known for years, he's the one who made this move out here. Without him, I don't have anyone or anything. I don't have family. I'd be on my own, and that terrifies me.

"I'm so scared Char," I admit, my eyes filling with tears.

"Come stay here with me and my Momma. We can find you another job, it ain't like the diner's gonna be open any time soon by the sound of it, anyway. Just please for God's sake kick him to the curb. You deserve so much better than him."

Would it really be that easy? To just pack a bag and leave?

"Put it like this—if you don't leave now, Bella... if you don't leave and he gets you pregnant, for real, imagine raising a kid with him. What if he does to the kid what he's done to you?"

I could never, ever imagine raising a baby with him like he is now. I could never imagine raising a baby with him, period.

"OK," I whisper, a tear rolling hot and wet down my cheek as I nod, trying to wipe them away. "OK."

Charlotte smiles, her eyes shining wet.

"Thank fuck," she breathes, sniffing. "Thank fuck! You can do this, B, and I'm here every step of the way."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The TV blares loudly, light flickering around the dark living room, an innocuous game show on. Its host is fucking chipper, with too white teeth and too perfect hair. There are too many fake laughs and too much fake applause. I'm tired just listening to it because I sure as hell ain't watching it.

Charlotte's not watching it either. She's watching me. I can feel her eyes boring into the side of my head like she's just waiting for the spark that's gonna make me explode.

James has been blowing up my cell and I've deleted every single text and every single voicemail before I'm tempted to torture myself by actually reading or listening to them.

Still, I wonder if he's begging for me, or whether it's all just hate. It's funny, he left and wasn't bothered for days. Now I'm the one that's disappeared on him and there's no let up.

My cell starts to vibrate again, the incoming call flashing with his name. I pick it up, half tempted to throw it at the wall. Hitting cancel I exhale forcefully, turning it off and leaning back into the cushions, trying to focus on the TV as a distraction.

It's better like this, Charlotte insists. He'll get the message this way. Doubts gnaw at me on the inside. I never expected to feel this level of guilt—the emptiness in the pit of my stomach. Isn't it better to break my own heart this way rather than it being shattered every time by him?

I've spent the past couple of days crying on and off. Overwhelmed, angry, sad.

Crying over us.

Crying over him.

He doesn't deserve my tears, but he gets them anyway.

"Are you-"

"Yes," Charlotte says forcefully. "Just don't even overthink it, B."

I bite my lip.

...

There's a pounding in my head that won't go away; a constant hammering. It gets louder, almost unbearable, until there's a dull shout and I startle into consciousness.

Charlotte's sat up in bed, beside me, wide-eyed.

"Bella!" a muffled voice yells. A half-strangled noise leaves my mouth. I'd know _his_ voice anywhere.

"B! Bella! Open the fuckin' door! I know you're in there!"

_James_.

My breath catches in my throat, fear prickling on my skin.

Charlotte presses a finger to her lips and slips out of bed, down the hall on her tiptoes. He's shouting louder now but I can't focus on the words, just on the desperation in his voice. It pleases me. Maybe this will teach him. Show him. I wrap my arms around my knees, hugging them to myself, ears straining.

There are whispered voices down the hall; Charlotte talking to her Momma. I close my eyes and hope they let me stay longer; I don't want to cause any trouble, for either of them.

I'm hardly breathing when Char creeps back into the room and closes the door softly behind her.

"What's—" I begin, but she shushes me, standing still in the shadows, phone in hand, 911 already lit up on her screen.

We listen silently as the front door opens and I hear her Momma speak, muffled through the walls and windows.

"The fuck you doin' bangin' on my door like that!" she exclaims. "It's two in the goddamn morning. You wanna wake the whole neighbourhood up too?"

He doesn't apologize.

"Bella—she here? I need to—"

"There's no one by that name here. Now move along, before I call the police," she slams the door and I feel a rush of gratitude.

"I know she's here!" he shouts, and then there's a dull thud. A fist or foot slamming into the wall, I think.

Eventually, heavy footsteps descend the porch and a car engine starts up, roaring off into the night.

I don't sleep a wink after, and neither does Charlotte.

He texts me.

One line that appears before I can delete it.

_Bitch_

...

"Bella, come on, I know you're fucking there. I know you are, you ain't got nowhere else to go!"

A couple of days have passed, and he's come on a day whilst both Charlotte and her Momma are out at work. I'm sat curled up in the corner of her bed, wearing the hoodie Masen let me walk away in, fiddling with the zipper as he carries on shouting and banging on the door.

My heart beats loud, thudding against my chest so hard it rocks my body. I wonder whether he'll break in? I wouldn't put it past him if he's angry enough. He doesn't sound angry though, just dejected… frustrated, even.

The fact this is hurting him, the fact he's back again makes me feel like I'm the one in control for once. I kind of like that.

"I'm not going anywhere until you fuckin' talk to me. Babe—please!"

I squeeze my eyes shut, resistance ebbing away. Should I talk to him? Doesn't he deserve that much? Charlotte would say no, I know she would.

"I'm sorry, about the other day, OK? I'm sorry. I love you. I swear on my fuckin' life, B, I'll never hurt you again. Just talk to me! We can sort this. I wanna sort this."

I bury my head in the pillow trying to block him and his words out, holding onto the fact that he's never really spoken the truth to me. All the promises before… this is no different. He breaks all of them.

...

_U ok?_

I stare at the number. It doesn't have a name, but it doesn't need to. I know who it is. I read it over and over, even though it's only three letters and a question mark it makes my tummy twist funny; the fact that he's thinking about me enough to text.

I don't know how to answer him though.

"Ask him to go with you so you can grab your stuff? I'm sure he'd love to help a girl out," Charlotte suggests, arching an eyebrow as she eats noodles from a plastic pot, perched on a stool across from the bed.

I've been worrying about my stuff, at the apartment - some things can be replaced but there are others that really can't.

I shoot her a look.

"What? He's hot as fuck and he blatantly has a thing for you, if his lil stunt after the diner is anythin' to go by."

"It ain't, Char. He just feels sorry for me. I'm a mess, I don't need to get twisted over some other guy right now," I say, voice tinged with a little frustration.

"You're right," she sighs and fluffs up her hair. "Sorry…. but he did say if you needed anythin'… and I think it's stupid you trying to go up there alone when you know that dickhead is still around."

I don't reply to Masen. He can wait. There's just too much going on in my head right now.

...

The minute my eyes are open the next morning, I know I'm going to have a bad day. I lie still on Charlotte's bed, eyes adjusting to the weak morning light as it filters through tiny gaps in the blinds.

There's a gaping hole in my chest so big it wrenches me from the bed to throw my guts up into porcelain. I cry curled up on the bathroom floor.

Even though I know I shouldn't be feeling like I am.

And that makes everything ten times worse.

He's brought lunch today, and even a bunch of flowers, I can see them on the porch when I step close enough to the blinds in Charlotte's room to peek through them. I see him, on the steps, head in hands, so worn, so down.

My heart tugs.

"Bella, just - come on. After everything and you're going to cut me out like this? I love you. You remember what we said before we left Phoenix? Huh?" he says through the door, pleading.

I close my eyes. Of course, I remember.

We were young and dumb, or at least I was. In love, or what I thought was love. He's the tangible connection between life now and life then. He was everything. He was supposed to be everything, forever. That's what we said.

But forever isn't forever unless you try.

My resolve crumbles, little by little.

...

Curled naked against him, skin against skin, tracing my fingers lightly along lines and lines of ink, my head on his chest, his hand loosely trailing fingers along my spine. I'm buried now, in familiarity.

And all I can think is; what the fuck have I done?

Smoke curls into the air and he's looking over at me with red eyes as he brings a spliff to his lips.

"Who were you fightin' with?" I ask tentatively, looking over his busted face and dark bruises on his ribs. His eye is swollen, mottled purple and there's a cut to his lip.

"Alec's guys," he says, keeping the smoke in his lungs.

I tense slightly, thinking of Masen. Was it him? Who did this? I should be mad, if it was, but I don't think I am.

My hand trails up to brush through short buzzed hair. It makes him look even more like the delinquent I know he is. Marcus did it after he got trashed. After he left me for days.

Apparently.

"I settled everythin' with them but they still wanted to teach me a lesson, I guess. I got off lightly." He laughs softly, leaning over and blowing smoke into my mouth. He plants a heavy kiss on my lips until I'm squirming, repulsion at the back of my throat.

"Gonna hit the shower," he says, rolling out of bed, offering up the rest of the spliff to me.

"OK," I say taking it, watching his lean naked body walk out the room.

I lie back, blinking at the ceiling, bringing the filter to my lips. It burns hot in my lungs.

This is forever what we've done.

Fuck then fight.

Fight then fuck.

It doesn't feel right though.

Everything feels wrong this time and it's like my whole being knows it.

I lean over, picking my phone off the bedside table, seeing Charlotte's tried ringing me.

I'm already cringing, imagining what she's going to say. She isn't going to like this at all and I don't want to call her back and have to tell her; I'm so weak. The minute I give an inch, he takes a mile.

James is persuasive. He always has been. Hooking up in his car the first day we met, the first time he got me spun, ditching school for him... I was rebelling, and he was more than happy to help. He even had Nonna wrapped around his little finger, before he tried to get us to leave. She didn't like that. No, she saw him then.

What I should've seen.

I should have listened to her.

And yet, here I am again.

I pull one of James' t-shirts on and get up, taking a drink of water, then inhaling smoke deeply, waiting for that hazy feeling to sink into my bones. Wandering into the living room, the sound of the shower runs in the background as I hit call on my cell, eyes closing.

She picks up in two rings.

"Bella, where are you? Are you OK?"

"Hey, yeah, I'm fine," I say walking over to the window and looking out at the street below. I pause, trying to think of how to say what I need to tell her.

"Where are you?" she asks again.

I sigh. "I, um, I've been talking - to - to James..."

I trail off, but there's only deafening silence on the other end of the phone.

"What?"

I know she heard me. I know it. I fill my lungs with smoke again.

"Are you fuckin' with me right now?" Her voice is incredulous. I wince. "Bella, no, honey."

"Look, he's really, really sorry about what hap—"

"Stop! Just stop!" Char snaps down the phone, cutting me off. "I don't want to hear whatever bullshit he's fed you! You were doing so well, you were fine this morning and now you've gone back to him?! B! Seriously! What the actual fuck!"

She sounds like she's about to cry. I chew my lip, guilt swamping me. I feel like I want to cry too.

"I think he knows I'm serious. I've told him it's his last chance—"

"BELLA!" she shouts. "He's not goin' to fuckin' change. I... I honestly can't believe this. I can't believe you'd be this stupid. Again. Do you not remember our conversation, like, four days ago?"

"Ye—"

"So why? Why do this to yourself again? Everything we said - it still stands, nothing has changed between then and now. Nothing. I don't get it, B! I don't understand, I thought you wanted to leave him?!"

"He knows it's his last chance, he knows it, Char... I've gotta, I've gotta give him that, after everything we've been through…" I say, feeling a little defensive, feeling a lot pathetic.

"B, please," she says with a sniff and I think she's actually crying now. "I can't watch you get hurt no more, I can't do it. I can't keep picking up the pieces every-fucking-time. I know you've had it rough, B, and he might've helped you then but you don't owe him nothin' The moment he laid his hand on yous the first time."

"It's his last chance, I promise Char."

She breathes in deeply a pause so long I think she's hung up.

"I can't... I can't watch him do this to you again. You know this ain't - this shit ain't right, B. I don't care what manipulative bullshit he's fed you. I'm sorry. I can't."

Then she hangs up, for real.

I sit there for a while, cell in my limp hand, staring out at the street, chewing over her words. I don't even hear James coming over.

He presses a kiss to my neck, damp skin leaving wetness behind.

"You good?"

"Yeah," I lie.

...

I stay up till dawn breaks, chain-smoking, crying silently. I watch him sleep, unable to switch off. Thoughts and feelings chasing and rushing through my head, spinning me so dizzy.

My phone beeps and I grab for it, thinking it might be Charlotte. Perhaps she wants to apologize, not that I think she would. It isn't her though.

_?_

I glance over at James, warily. Hands flying over the keypad before I can stop myself. I pause, re-reading and then delete it, flopping back into soft covers and close my eyes.

...

Maria calls me in the morning.

"Babe, I'm here for you anytime," she says. "Char's just pissed, but I don't think she gets it. I do. You're like me and Petey in that way, we just go back for more even though we've done shitty stuff. Love doesn't make sense sometimes. Just give her time."

I'm not convinced this is love. I thought maybe coming back would make everything OK, but it's not really fixed anything. I don't feel any better. I don't feel happy. I think it's a mistake.

We haven't even really talked about it, about us. About everything that's happened, either. It's the huge fucking elephant in the room that both of us are avoiding. I can tell James just wants everything to fall back to normal, but how can it? And what's normal, anyway?

He's already disappeared.

That's normal.

He's gone out at some point this morning, leaving me sleeping until late. A note on the coffee table with money, telling me to treat myself to something, that he's busy sorting the refit out at the diner.

I'm not sure how true that is.

It's a nice thought, I guess. I need some new jeans now the weather is cooling, but it's something I'd normally do with Charlotte and the fact she's mad at me… I rub at my eyes.

I text her telling her I'm sorry and then scroll to Masen's text again.

My left hand tingles and I automatically flex it, making the feeling disappear. The wound is healing ugly and red and it shouldn't be too long before the stitches can come out but I think the Doc was right about the permanent damage.

I don't know what to say to Masen. Am I OK?

No.

I think I'm fucked up.

I think I've fucked up.

...

Masen messages again that afternoon, after I've clumsily got dressed. Ready to get some more dressings for my hand, pocketing the money James left this morning.

_Let me know_

I chew my lip, heart squeezing.

_Sry. Lot of shit going on rite now. _

I hit send. It's the truth, as best as I can explain it without explaining it.

His reply is almost instant.

_But ur ok? _

I breathe out a laugh. His persistence is kind of... unexpected. My mouth curves into a smile and it's the first time in days that it doesn't feel forced.

_I'm gd Masen.. chill x_

I send it before I realise I've put a kiss and then I freak out for a solid five minutes. I'm an idiot. And I'm even more of an idiot for thinking he'd give a shit.

...

I pick my bag up from the floor, about ready to leave for the diner. It's been a week and James wants help deciding on some equipment for the refit. Where the money is coming from, I'm not too sure. He keeps telling me it's fine. I'm not sure on that either, but whatever.

I stop at the kitchen table, searching for the lip balm I know I have in my bag. It's not in the main compartment so I shove my hand into the front pocket, fingers brushing against paper.

Frowning, I bring out letters I put in there to give to James, weeks ago, now. I hadn't, with everything going on. I'd forgotten they were even there.

Now, my name peeks out at me, black against stark white. I don't get post… at all. James deals with all of the bills… so what the fuck is this?

I open one slowly, bad feeling building inside.

My eyes scan the page and I inhale sharply.

This can't be right.

There must be a mistake.

I dump the first one on the table and sink into a chair, tearing into another one, adrenaline surging. Then another, and another, until they're strewn on the kitchen table.

Clutching my face in my hands, I blink my eyes too many times.

This has to be some sort of sick joke.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"What happened to that lady?" a little girl whispers, not so quietly to her Mom. Her eyes are large and wide as she swings on the seat she's stood next to; to and fro, unhindered by the movements of the bus slowing and accelerating.

"I don't know, sweetie," her Mom replies as I shift, angling myself away towards the window. I lean my head against the cool glass, city streets passing by. I can see in the reflection she's staring as she speculates. "Sometimes people get hurt."

I kind of want to turn to her daughter and tell her life is hard sometimes, and it can hurt, and people can hurt you even when you thought they never could, in ways you didn't even think of.

I blink a tear away.

I'm so sick of crying.

It takes three buses to get to Maria's, trying desperately to hold it together, trying not to lose it completely in public. Three buses of people seeing my bruised face and busted hand and averting their eyes like I have some sort of disease. Except for the little girl, who stares brazenly until her stop, the only one who asked the question people must be thinking. Trust kids for their honesty. Adults? Fuck 'em.

I fled from the apartment a couple of the letters stuffed in my bag intending to go to the diner and confront James. Halfway there, I changed my mind. There's no explanation that'll be good enough. Not this time. This is just… too much.

I tried ringing Charlotte. She didn't answer, and I wasn't expecting her to, not really. Not after ignoring all my other texts and calls for the last week. It crushes me more than I want to admit. I miss her, badly. But I kind of get it.

I rang Maria instead, and she told me to come over, no hesitation, no questions asked. So with only the clothes on my back, I have. Drained and weary, climbing up the steps to her house, a light drizzle misting my face.

"Hey babe, how've you been?" she says, throwing a thin arm around me and bringing me close as soon as the door closes behind her. She's upbeat today, smelling sugary sickly sweet. She studies my puffy eyes and face for a minute with pupils too dilated to be sober. "Silly question. Fuck him, babe! Fuck all of 'em."

"Thanks for this," I say moving awkwardly into the small hall, glad to see it's not anywhere near as bad as it was a few weeks ago.

Maria's talking but I can't focus. Her mouth moving too fast. Shaking myself a little, I try to pay attention as she shows me the tiny spare room next to the kitchen. It only has a single bed in it but it's better than nothing at this point.

Anything is better than nothing at this point.

"Wanna talk about it?" she says, running a hand down my arm, consolingly.

I sit down on the bed heavily, pushing my feet into the faded pink carpet before puffing out my cheeks and staring at the ceiling, feeling strangely numb.

"I found letters today…" I swallow thickly, trying not to cry. "There were… loans, credit cards... all in _my_ name. But I - I didn't take them out. Like thousands of dollars of debt all in my name."

"What? Are you bein' serious?" Her mouth falls open, eyebrows raised high. "Do you… was it- James?"

I raise my shoulders in a shrug. "Who else could it be?"

She's quiet for a minute.

"If that's true, babe, if he's done that - that's, like, fraud. He could go down for a long time for that. Are you sure you didn't—"

"There's nothing in my name. I don't even have a bank account. He literally dealt with everything."

She pauses again. "How much?"

"Like, fifty grand in total, maybe more."

She sinks down on the bed next to me. "Ho-ly shit." Then she asks what my mind has been screaming. "Where is it? What's- what's he done with it?"

"I don't know. I mean I haven't-" I pull at my hair, rubbing my face. "I haven't seen a friggin' dime of it. How the fuck could he do this to me? How could I not know?"

We're silent for ages until she slides her hand over mine and gives it a firm squeeze.

"He really is the biggest prick," she announces suddenly and then pulls me up. "You need a drink. Alcohol solves everything."

Turns out, vodka is the Band-Aid I never knew I needed. She fixes me shots, all out of mixers and too lazy to go to the local 7-Eleven for Coke. The first two are disgusting and I balk as they trail a fire down my throat and hit my empty stomach, unable to contain the shudder that rips through me.

After that first couple though, I'm a pro.

It goes down easy.

So fucking easy.

We lament our shitty choice of men in front of trash on TV until we're laughing and crying in equal measure, my phone long dead. I don't want to turn it on. James will know by now that I know and I don't doubt he'll be blowing it up again.

Fleetingly I think of Masen and the last message he sent, wondering whether he'll worry if I don't respond for a while. He's been checking in every now and then and it never fails to send a little thrill through me, even though I've had to change his name in my phone, just in case James decided to check. Another guy texting me? He'd flip.

Maria distracts me every time I start to go quiet and it works to a point. She's one of those people with a hundred stories to tell; always one for every situation. She chats so much garbage though sometimes I have a hard time believing her.

"My worst lap dancing experience was when I was—actually, no. The worst was the first month I started," she tells me, hands flapping as she tries to calm herself down through fits of laughter. "I was just doin' my thing, y'know, doing a little bit of heavy grindin' on this guy. One of those business types and like, he was really into it, unti—" She chokes on laughter, tears in her eyes. "Until - until I got off his lap and realised I'd started my freakin' period! The whole front of his suit pants were stained with my vaj blood, I mean… I was totally mortified."

"Oh, my God," I gasp trying to breathe, hands clutching my numb face in horror. "Oh, my God no!"

She's on her feet, jumping up and down excitedly.

"That's it! Maybe I can fix you up with a job at the club," she grabs at my arm excitedly. "It pays good, you'd have all them loans paid off in no time!"

"Uh - no way! Absolutely. No. Fucking. Way! I don't even dance," I say, reaching for the bottle and tipping it up, the fire now a dull singe. "And, like, why should I pay it off? I didn't take out any of that shit."

"No - no - no, you're wrong, " Maria insists diving for the remote, unsteady on her feet. "I've seen you dance, bitch. You got natural rhythm. Look - looook," she slurs, "I earn, like, a thousand dollars at the weekends most weekends, easy. More sometimes."

She flicks through the channels until she finds a music one, turning up the volume and taking the bottle from me.

I'm stunned, gaping at her. "A thousand dollars a weekend? Are you kidding me?"

"No, babe. And you've got that whole vibe going on." Her hands flutter in the air as she gestures at me.

"What?"

"The innocent, sexy vibe. But like, you know, underneath it all, you're a minx. Guys totally dig that."

I shake my head, smiling at her. "You're blind."

She snorts. "No, honey, I'm blonde. Trust, you're way hotter than some of those bitches I work with. Once you're, y'know not banged up, anyways. Think about it, babe. It would be so much fun workin' together!"

We end up half-clothed, dancing around her living room until stupid o'clock, screaming the lyrics to The Killers and Justin Timberlake at the top of our lungs. _Cry Me a River_ never sounded so good.

Maria thinks it's real funny to almost kill the pizza delivery boy by answering the door topless, and I can do nothing but cackle in the background at his shock-awed face. It feels good. I feel good, and it's almost... so almost enough to make me forget everything.

Almost.

In the back of my mind, I'm worried about James finding me here; words whispered against my skin; words that buzz around my fuzzy brain.

_Don't you _ever_ leave me again_.

It wasn't a plea.

It was a warning.

He doesn't know where Maria lives though, so I'm hoping I'll be OK. I'm hoping he won't find me here because God only knows what he'd do if he did.

Maria passes out before me, and I stay up until the birds are singing, sitting on the back step as the world slowly unhides itself, cold morning air fresh on my face. I know I'm too drunk when I light the wrong end of my cigarette, the filter melting, a harsh burning smell invading my nostrils to the point it makes me throw up into overgrown weeds by the steps.

Stumbling into the house, I flop face down onto the little single bed, the whole world spinning rapidly underneath me until I lose myself in blackness.

...

We weave in and out of people, my fingers tightly laced with Maria's. The music is loud, people shouting and laughing, drinking and doping themselves up. It's a Saturday night and we're at Janie's. It's Maria's only Saturday off this month, and she's on a mission to find Petey and show him what he's missing.

If he's even here.

Janie's parties are always something, she's a trust fund baby or something like that; throwing a party once or twice a month just because why the hell not?

I don't really talk to her much; she doesn't have time for me: I'm not her type of friend. Not rich, pretty, or popular enough. Not to say she doesn't acknowledge me, but it's just small talk.

It's been just over a week since I walked out of our apartment and I'd be lying if I said I was happy about being here tonight. I'm here for Maria though, after she begged me to come.

"Ah, did you see? Petey's here," Maria whines, passing me a bottle of beer and tossing back her blonde hair. "How do I look?" She pouts slick pink lips at me.

"Gorgeous."

It's the truth.

I glance down at myself, outfit as black as my mood. I'm still amazed I've managed to fit into some of Maria's stuff; a black strappy lace bustier, delicate stitched in cups pushing my tits together, and an equally black denim skirt of hers she nagged me to try on. Granted, I had to lie down to do the skirt up but I know this means I've lost weight. That's what emotional distress does for you, I guess.

Maria watches Petey for a while from across the room. He's not noticed her, engrossed in conversation with some guys I recognize but can't put names to.

"Shall I go talk to him for you?" I say wanting to make good on my promise from weeks ago.

"Would you?" she says, wide-eyed and pleading.

"Yeah, of course. I said I would, didn't I?"

She flings her arms around my neck.

"You're the best." She kisses my cheek and I slowly edge away from her, skirting around groups of people, trying not to step on anyone's toes.

Petey thankfully looks up at me when I approach, saving me from standing awkwardly over him. A smile creeps onto his face.

"Hey, B, long time no see." He stands, wrapping an arm around my back and then stepping back slightly, letting out a small whistle. "Looking damn fine. Hey, fellas, this is Bella, she's James' girl," he introduces me to his little circle and I give a tight little wave, cheeks heating.

"Hey," I say, flashing a small smile, too tired to get into semantics. "Listen, can I talk to you for a sec?" He nods his head and we walk a little further away to jeers from his friends.

Petey looks as sheepish as I feel but shrugs it off, leaning against a wall near the door, his checked shirt open, taking a swig from a full-size bottle of SoCo.

"Maria," I say and as soon as her name is out of my mouth he's shaking his head.

"Bella."

"Petey," I reply. "Are you serious this time? About ending things for good? Because she's sorry. She's been a mess since you left."

"She cheated on me. Again, B." His voice is tight and he shifts his weight, pulling a foot up to rest against the white wall.

"I know. I'm sorry. I don't think she meant to get that drunk. I mean, she can't remember anything. Who sleeps with a girl that drunk, anyways? She's really messed up over it all."

His mouth is pressed into a tight line. He offers me his SoCo, so I take a gulp, watching him. His body is tense, his jaw jutted, dark brows furrowed.

"How much am I supposed to take, B? I'm a fuckin' fool. She knows I love her, like mad love. You know what I'm sayin'? I can't let this one go so easy though." He glances around. "She here?"

"Yeah, night off."

He laughs a little bitter. "That's the other problem. Won't quit taking her clothes off will she? That's where this whole thing comes from. I mean, I can take care of her, y'know? We could get a place together, but she won't have it. She just wants to strip for other men and it freakin' kills me." He shakes his head again and runs his hand through short black hair, blowing a breath out his nose. "Fuck."

"Would you at least talk to her?" I pass the bottle back to him and chase it down with beer.

"I'll think about it."

He taps the bottle with his fingers looking around and leans in closer, so his mouth is next to my ear. "Is James around? Could do with a little somethin', somethin'. You know what I'm sayin'?" He pulls back. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"We're not really, um, not really together anymore," I shrug, fiddling with the label on my bottle.

"Ah, man, that's too bad." He pauses, eyes searching mine, eyebrows raising. "Or not too bad?"

"I don't know." Actually. "Not too bad."

Strangely I feel OK about it. Not like I did a few weeks ago at Charlotte's. Maria thinks I'm repressing, but if I am, I'm glad. I'm just… done.

"Huh," he's uneasy, rocking on his feet. "Well, I'll keep it to myself," he looks towards his group of friends. "Keep the hounds at bay."

I smile weakly. "Thanks. Well, I should - I'll see you around. Hope you're doing OK, Pete, really." I give his arm a squeeze.

I turn to walk away but as I do someone moves and I have to do a slow double take.

Sitting in the open plan living area with Janie and her friends, a blonde, tanned girl on his lap, is Masen.

I stare for a second. I've never seen him here before… my eyes linger on the girl and I turn quickly, an unexpected stab of jealousy tearing through me.

My heart thuds.

What is he doing here?

Why am I even jealous?

I find Maria in the large kitchen, pouring out generous shots of sambuca at the all white marble island.

"Sooo?" she asks impatiently, rubbing her top and bottom lip together as she places one in my hand, linking her arm through mine. We slam them back before I answer, trying to shake the image of Masen out of my brain.

She scoffs and rolls her eyes when I finish summarizing what Petey told me.

"Thanks for trying, B. We'll see I guess. You're a good friend…" She picks up a second shot and pours it back. "Speakin' of… has Char talked to you yet?"

I shake my head.

"No." I bite my lip and then take a sip of my beer. "Have you told her? That I'm staying with you?"

"No, babe. I didn't know whether you wanted me to. But I will; if you want."

I nod my head slowly. "Please. I miss her, y'know? Feels like I've lost my right hand."

She smiles sadly and I realise how difficult it must be for her being stuck in the middle.

"She just needs time, B."

I pick up another shot, downing it.

"I hope you're right."

"And you have me B, you're not alone." Maria looks sincere. "I mean that. Stay as long as you need, I like having you around. And your doin' so good without _him_."

"Thanks," I say and then more determined. "I feel… just like, a huge weight has gone already."

"It's showing." She smiles wide. "And you know what they say. To get over one guy, get under another." She raises her eyebrows suggestively and I laugh.

Two beers and a good few shots later I stumble to find a bathroom, trying not to look for Masen on my way. Not his white t-shirt, or his dark hair or his biceps, or his dark eyes. Nope.

I'm glad for the two minutes of space as I lean over the sink and stare at my reflection. Sun-kissed collar bones peek, tanned shoulders fading down to paler cleavage. Maria has worked wonders covering yellowing bruises and the tiny red scar above my brow so you can't even tell, a smokey eye and bold red lip making me look far more put together than I feel.

I reapply the red before leaving, a little reluctant to return to Maria and the show she's putting on for Petey's benefit when she thinks he's looking. It's painful.

Her laugh gets a little louder, her movements more exaggerated, her flirting more overt. I told her it was over the top, but she laughed and ignored me, carrying on chatting with this guy and his drunk friend who keeps talking at my tits rather than my face.

Petey looks like someone stole his puppy, so it might well be working; I'll give her that. He pulls little faces at me occasionally from across the room and I have to hide a smile behind my hand.

I allow myself a glance to where Masen had been seated earlier as I wind my way back, but he's not there. Neither is the blonde girl either, and I'm kind of glad.

...

I'm standing smoking on the back porch, my arm wrapped around myself, flexing my hand as it starts to tingle. The party rages behind me, inside. I can hear people drunkenly singing and laughing, and music thumping, and yet I feel detached.

Maria was actually talking with Petey when I got back from the bathroom, so I grabbed a bottle of beer and took myself out here to give them space, not wanting to be bothered by anyone else either.

The door opens behind me with a drawn-out creak but I remain steadfast, staring out into the darkness of the garden, enjoying the way the cold clings to my face and my legs in this ridiculously short skirt.

Footsteps walk from behind me to my side before I hear the flick of a lighter. Once. Twice. Three times. The glowing embers of a cigarette being lit, just in my peripheral.

"Hey," a voice says that I recognize instantly. "I thought it was you."

He hasn't left after all.

"Hi," I say with a sigh, still trying not to think about the blonde girl on his lap earlier or the way jealousy claws up my spine.

"You shouldn't be out here on your own," he tells me turning to face me, blowing smoke out the corner of his mouth, leaning on the wooden railing. "Never know what's lurking in the dark."

I take a drag before replying. "Like you, you mean?"

"I ain't lurking, Bella," he says with a wry smile. I shrug.

"Stalking then?" I retort, placing the bottle to my lips and taking a sip. "What are you doin' here?"

"You look… good," he counters, looking me over. I know he means my face, but I still feel a flush, it not escaping my notice the way his eyes slowly wander over me—head to toe. At least I'm looking on point, rather than when he last saw me.

"Not the best compliment I've had tonight," I reply, watching smoke drift and twirl, alcohol making me feel a fraction bolder.

A slow smile spreads across his face and he shakes his head, hair falling into his eyes. "No. I bet it ain't."

Inhale.

Exhale.

"Let me see your hand."

I offer my hand to him as he straightens up, coming closer, the red scar prominent against my palm. I took the stitches out myself a few days ago with sterilised tweezers and scissors.

"Giving you any problems?" he asks, taking it in his own, larger one, tracing it with the tip of his finger.

"Numbness, pins and needles. Could be worse," I tell him truthfully. He looks down at me and I'm not sure whether the sudden rush of attraction I feel towards him is just me.

My stomach flutters, heart quickening, hand tingling from his touch.

I take another drag, watching him, watch me, and for just a split second I think he's going to lean down and kiss me.

"Sorry," he says softly, not letting go of my hand.

"Ain't your fault," I say, looking away, back into the garden.

"Kinda is," he pushes dark tousled hair back and slowly lets go. "Who you here with?"

"A friend. Last time I saw she was talkin' to her ex, and I didn't wanna interrupt so..." I shrug again. "You?"

He doesn't get to respond as the door behind us opens again, throwing light into the garden.

"Masen, there you are," a trill voice says. I turn and see the blonde girl from earlier standing in the doorway, looking between us. "Are you coming?"

"I'm good," Masen says, brushing her off, barely giving her a passing glance. I do though, and I see the way she's looking at me.

She comes closer attaching herself to Masen's arm, and it's all I can do but not to roll my eyes at the passive-aggressiveness. "Hi," she says all bright white teeth and long tan limbs. "I'm Kate, I don't think we've met?"

"Bella," I say with a little wave. My eyes slide to Masen who looks frustrated. The set of his jaw, his body still angled towards me and not her... it's telling.

"Bella… like, James' Bella?"

I grimace, wondering how I only noticed tonight that no one refers to me as an individual but as a person who belongs to someone else. Like a possession. Maybe I didn't mind before, but I do now.

"Not James' Bella," I respond dully, wishing I could chug my drink and leave.

"Oh. I could've sworn he was just looking for you?" Kate carries on, her smile big and as fake as her tan.

My face drains rapidly, eyes widening.

Oh, fuck.

"Here? Like, right now?" I ask, desperately hoping that isn't the case.

"Um, yah."

If he finds me here… if he finds me here with Masen…. My legs are moving. I need to leave. Right now.

"Sorry, I've gotta go. Enjoy the rest of your night," I flash both of them a tight smile, trying to be sincere, but dying a little on the inside.

Kate says, "We will," behind me at the same time Masen says, "Bella, wait."

I pretend I haven't heard him, finding my feet as I run down the back porch steps, heels clattering on wood, the sound of hurried, heated, voices being left behind.

I just need to get out of here before everything blows up.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

My heels tap out a steady rhythm on the path winding around the side of the house, uplighters casting shadows every few feet. Every now and then the _tap tap_ lets up with a scuff when I misstep, the back of my shoes digging into my heel, painfully. I grimace, swaying, tipsy.

I knew it was a risk, James showing up here and now he has I just need to avoid him at any cost. Any kind of confrontation is the kind I don't want right now.

There are hurried footsteps behind me.

"Bella!"

Tensing I turn to the voice, seeing Masen walking purposefully towards me.

"Let me give you a lift."

"What? No, it's fine. I don't wanna interrupt your night."

"You're not interruptin' anything," he tells me, his voice rough.

"Oh."

I can't help think he's talking about Kate. I kind of hope he is.

I start walking again toward the street, him in time with me, stuffing hands into black jean pockets.

I can't go back into the house to tell Maria I'm leaving; I haven't got my cell on me either. That's stuffed under the mattress at her house, still dead. I'll have to let her know when I'm back. Hopefully, she'll understand and she won't worry; I think she'll be OK with Petey at least.

The noise from the party makes it hard to think. My hazy brain makes it hard to think. It's either walking until I find a cab and paying for as far as it'll go, with the very, very little money I have, or accepting Masen's offer.

"OK," I say slowly, an idea forming in my head. "You alright to drive though?"

"I had one piss poor beer…" He brings his wrist up to read his watch; silver and expensive looking. "...'bout two hours ago. I'm fine."

"Cool." I pause, a little awkward, trying to figure out how to word what I want to say.

"Um, look. I'm going to lay it out, feel free to say no, but I kinda need to go somewhere and pick some things up. Do you mind? Now is kind of… the perfect time?"

"Anywhere you wanna go." He smiles all easy at me but as we walk his eyes are watchful, like he knows exactly what I'm worried about, and then I realize he does.

...

It's all a bit too deja vu getting into the Mustang, settling into dark leather. It's spotless, just the same, but I don't feel so foreign this time—not so out of place.

Masen pulls off from the curb, smoothly, switching up gears rapidly. I enjoyed watching him the last time too. I like it now, the way his muscles in his arm flex, the hum of the engine, his profile lighting up and fading away as we drive under streetlights. He's hot. Really, really fucking hot and him in this car does something to me.

I squeeze my thighs together and shift in my seat fractionally, pushing away thoughts of hands and mouths and skin. That look he gave me earlier; was I imagining it? Maybe it's because I'm drunk, but I think it's probably just him.

I find the button on the car door and lower the window to let night-cool air blow across my face.

"You alright? How much have you had to drink?"

I can feel a flush creep onto my cheeks. Drinking is not why I need air.

"Enough. I'm fine, I swear I won't puke in your car if that's what you're worried about."

He laughs. "Let me know. I'll pull over."

We settle into a quietness, but it's not that awkward quiet, there's a familiarity there.

I kind of get the feeling he offered the lift because of his misplaced sense of pity, like before, but I can't complain. I'll take it if it means I don't have to see James.

"You never answered me, y'know," I say to him after giving him vague directions.

"About what?" he says, checking his mirrors before changing lanes.

"What you were doin' at Janie's? Never seen you there before."

"Alec wanted me to drop in on her. Check things out. She's his... cousin, of sorts."

"Cousin?" My mind spins. "The world's funny, you know. The whole six degrees thing."

He pulls up to a red light looking over at me. "Their family… It's complicated."

I kind of get that so I don't ask any more about it. I want to ask him about Kate too, but I don't do that either. Something tells me I don't want to know.

...

He parks a little way down the street from the apartment and we sit for a minute, the sound of the engine cooling as I lean forward and squint up at our window. It's dark—no lights on—but that doesn't mean anything. Realistically there's no way James could be here if he's at Janie's. There's a little seed of doubt though. I didn't _actually _see him.

"This your place?" Masen asks looking up through the windscreen before leaning back, throwing a crumpled pack of cigarettes on the dashboard and lighting up a smoke. He offers me one, but I decline with a shake of my head, hands too fidgety, too nervous.

"Yeah. But I'm not staying here no more, I'm staying at a friend's."

Masen is silent. I bite my lip again. The air feels heavy.

"You're leaving him?"

I release my lip from my teeth and glance at him. "Yeah. Well, left, already."

It feels weird to say. More resolute. More concrete. No going back, this time. He brings fingers down to rub the stubble on his jawline.

"Good," he says simply.

"You might want to stay here," I say, seeing the usual group of teens on the corner eyeing up the car like it's a shiny new toy. "This isn't the neighbourhood to leave a car like this alone in."

He gives me a look. "The car's insured," he exhales. "You ain't. I'll come with you."

...

Masen follows me down towards the building and I try not to feel too embarrassed by the state of the place, or when the kids holler over, wanting to see his car, then wanting to know my number, wanting to know who Masen is, wanting smokes and gum that I sometimes give them. There's new graffiti, broken glass, uncapped needles casually tossed by the steps when we walk up them.

I swear it gets worse.

I take off my heels as soon as we're inside the entrance hall, flexing my feet as they relish being flat on the floor.

"Sorry, some of them are fuckin' feral," I say nodding towards the door.

"S'alright. As long as they don't touch my car," he says and he's deadly serious.

"I did tell you, they'll get someone to boost it if you're not careful, it's too nice for this part of town," I respond, padding up worn wooden steps, grimacing a bit at how dirty they are.

"They'll wish they hadn't if they do."

I believe him.

We reach the second-floor landing and I spin rapidly, Masen's eyes jerking from where my ass was seconds ago, to my face. I smile as I press a finger to my lips, the familiar sounds of Saturday night television blaring through the door of Mr Ameer's.

He follows my lead, so close behind me, he feels like he could be my shadow.

I'm relieved when we reach the third floor, and even more so when my key works in the door. At least James hasn't bothered changing the locks. It swings open wide and I'm almost too scared to cross over the threshold, until I feel fingers ghost on the small of my back, encouraging me forward.

I step in, cautiously, flipping the lights, a sweeping glance telling me that everything is almost exactly how I left it. It makes me wonder whether James has even been here since I left. My stomach rolls. And if not here, where? Marcus' place? Not that it matters anymore. I shouldn't care. I won't let myself.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Masen surveying the tiny space, the ceiling with water stains, the hole in the arm of the blue leather couch, the bare light fixture. He wanders to the window and ducks his head to look down into the street. I want to call him out on checking on his car, but I bite it back. I've got things to do.

Hurrying into the bedroom, I take my blue rucksack out of the bottom of the closet—last used when we came on the Greyhound all the way from Phoenix. Over seventeen hundred miles and over two days travelling to get us here, and I thought that was the bad part.

That wasn't the bad part; the bad part was when we arrived—no place to go, even though James told me there was. Spending nights on fusty sofas and floors of vague acquaintances. It came to a head when we were fucking in a bathroom, desperate after weeks of no privacy and the guy who we were staying with peeped through the crack, watching. I screamed. James beat him bloody.

A few days later, James landed the diner by dumb luck. I'm still not sure how exactly, even now. I told myself it didn't matter as long as we could get our own place. Things slowly got better, but never great—not even good. He started dealing again to top us up, but money has always been an issue. He's never let me handle anything like that. He liked to be in control. Still does.

I try to think methodically when it comes to packing. Favourite underwear, jeans, tops, hoodies, jumpers, a couple of dresses, shorts, shoes, jewellery, and a little trinket box from my Nonna. I move into the bathroom to grab my toiletries and make-up, wiping my face clean feeling way overdone; shoving the Valium James got a hold of for me in my bag too.

Masen wanders slowly, watching me dart around. He touches nothing, but it doesn't stop him from his eyes being everywhere. I'm self-conscious of it, afraid of his judgement but he gives away nothing. Nothing, apart from when he stops and looks at punctured plaster, caved in by a fist. Not my head, that time. He brings his hands together, rubbing at his knuckles, lips pressed together, nostrils flared slightly.

When I happen to look again, he's in front of a picture of James and me. Memories stir of hot, hot summer days at the lakes, that photo in particular… tiny ochre yellow bikini, tanned skin all over. James with his arm around me, lips to my cheek, less tattooed than he is now.

"You're happy here," he comments.

"He wasn't always like he is. Besides, sometimes the camera lies," I respond dully. Two hours after that photo was taken my face was stinging from the back of his hand, all over an innocent blowback one of his friends gave me. Masen asks, so I tell him just that, not meeting his eyes to see his reaction.

I push the memories away, going to the kitchen, plucking a knife from the drawer. Him following me as I move back into the bedroom, coming to stand in the doorway, leaning against it.

Lifting back the rug, I kneel down, wedging the knife into the slim crack of the floorboard. I wiggle it, but it doesn't budge.

"For fuck's sake." I jam the knife down again, frustratedly, trying to lever it up. It isn't moving. "Why, when I'm in a hurry, does it decide to not fuckin' work?" I try again, failing.

Masen comes and crouches down next to me, plucking the knife out of my hands. "Ain't you just full of surprises?" he murmurs, sliding it in calmly at the other end, using some force to pop up the small section of board.

He has no idea.

"Thanks," I say, grateful, prising it up and reaching into the void.

There's a thin photo album, a passport and some money I'd been saving from the little allowance James let me have, as well as a couple of envelopes written in Nonna's handwriting. She said I'd know when to open them but I never have.

In my hurry to stuff them into my rucksack the album tumbles to the floor, a solitary picture escaping from the pages, flying out and sliding under the bed. Masen reaches for it, picking it up.

He slowly stands, as I do. Looking down at me and then back at the picture.

"This your Mom?" he says, turning the picture around and showing it to me.

It's one of those super glossy photos, slightly soft in focus, too much brightness bleaching everyone lighter. Mamma, Papà, and Nonna are all together; my Mamma heavily pregnant with me. She's beaming at the camera, beautiful, Papà's hand protective over her swollen stomach, his other hand on Nonna's shoulder. His Mamma. They look relaxed, happy, and blissfully unaware of how fucked up everything was to become. Would they change anything, if they'd known?

"Yeah," I say, as he turns it around and studies it again.

"You look like her. Thought it was you for a second... where is she?"

"Dead," I swallow uncomfortably and brush him off when he starts to say sorry. "I was - I was young… I - I don't really remember her." I take a breath, changing the subject. "And you're wrong. I look like my Dad."

A frown line appears on his face as he studies the picture.

"He looks familiar."

"Because I look like him."

He shakes his head. "No. What did you say his name was?"

I pluck the photo out of his hands, sliding it into the album then into my bag. "I didn't."

A door slams somewhere down below and I'm immediately on edge, heart accelerating. I replace the floorboard firmly back down and cover it over with the rug, hurriedly, before rushing towards the apartment door and peering over the railing, down the stairwell. It's not him, thankfully.

Sometimes I'm just too paranoid, I think.

Masen hands me my rucksack at the door.

"Got everything you want?"

"Yeah, I think so. Hold on." Dropping the bag to the floor again with a thud, I edge past him to slip on a pair of black flats left scattered by the wall behind the door, and then take a minute looking around, racking my brain to see whether I can think of anything else, anything important.

I won't miss this place, that I'm definitely sure of.

I go to pick up my bag, but Masen's already slipping it over one broad shoulder, stepping out onto the landing.

"Ready?" he asks and I nod.

"Yeah."

I lock the door behind me, pausing, wondering whether or not I should take the key.

Masen has already started down the stairs but he turns back when he doesn't hear me following. I haven't moved an inch. I look at the key and then at him like I want him to tell me what to do.

He tilts his head.

"Your call."

He's right.

This isn't something he can help me with. I tap the key against my palm and take a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

After a moment I slide the key off my keyring, hands trembling, bobbing down and push it under the door.

It's what he deserves.

It's what I deserve.

I straighten up, turning to Masen, smiling at him, even though it feels wobbly.

"Let's go."

…

We're almost at the bottom of the stairs when Mr Ameer appears, shuffling out from behind his door. There's a hole through the toe of his well-worn slippers and his shirt is flecked with dirt, open low on his chest, a gold chain around his neck.

"Rent," he grunts, as he limps down the stairs, hand outstretched.

Resigned to my luck having run out, I fumble with my purse.

"Sorry, I haven't got anything else," I say stuffing crumpled bills into his outstretched hand. There's maybe fifty dollars. Still, fifty dollars is a lot when you don't have a job. I shift my weight from one foot to the other. "Did- um, did James tell you? About the diner?"

"Eh, you know, not my problem," Mr Ameer responds, accent thick and heavy, stilting his words as he shuffles the bills into order. "You already behind, before."

"I know. Sorry. Look, I'm not going to be livin' here no more, you need to take it up with him… for the rest, I mean."

"No- no- no. I am not- not a- a charity here!" he exclaims angrily, gesturing wildly with his hands. "I wait and wait, give you chance after chance. Now I want my money- has been long, long time!" He slaps the back of his hand down into his palm and I flinch.

"I don't- I don't have anything else," I confess, looking at my feet, feeling mortified to be having this conversation in front of Masen. If he didn't know I was broke before, he certainly does now.

Mr Ameer clicks his tongue at me in an annoyed fashion, then considers me, bringing a hand up to rub at his moustache. "Well, I am sure," he licks his lips, "I'm sure we could come to an- an arrangement? Eh? You are very, very pretty girl."

His insinuation hangs in the air and makes my stomach roll as Masen snorts with derision. He steps out from behind me, as I flounder, speechless, ducking his head so he's eye to eye with Mr Ameer. Mr Ameer tries to step back but Masen's hand shoots out, grabbing a rounded shoulder.

He's shaking his head. "You listen here and you listen good. She," he points a finger at me. "She don't owe you nothin'. You got it?"

"But- but-" he splutters.

"Ah- ah- ah. You ain't listenin'. There's no buts. That money? Not. From. Her. You get it from that motherfucker up there, you understand? Cus if you don't, we're gonna have ourselves a problem." He pauses and I see his fingers dig in. "And trust me, you don't want me as a problem."

MrAmeer swallows, eyes darting frantically from Masen to me.

"Of- of course," he stutters.

"Good," Masen says, clapping him harder than necessary on the shoulder. He snatches the bills back out of his hand, and gives them to me, gesturing for me to go on down the stairs ahead of him.

I pause at the bottom when he doesn't follow, and it's almost as if he doesn't want me to hear what he says next. His voice calm and so dark, it causes chills.

"And if I ever hear of you propositioning a girl like that again, you sick fuck, you're a dead man."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

"Thanks," I tell Masen numbly as we step outside, starting down the steps, a cold blast of wind making the hairs on my arms prickle until my skin is goose-pimpled all over.

"You don't need to thank me," he tells me as he scans up and down the street, offering me his hand to guide me down the last couple. I don't need the help—the physical contact with him though—I take it, more than willingly.

He doesn't let go, fingers lacing tightly with mine as he starts walking us to his car; his touch making my whole body hum.

Neither of us speak, butterflies beating fiercely in my stomach as his thumb brushes the back of my hand, soothing. I know this is microscopic in importance, but it feels so big to me right now.

I can feel the calluses on his knuckles with the tips of my fingers. He fights, but I knew that. And his threats to Mr Ameer? I know he isn't fucking around. He means every word.

I'm so busy thinking about it, I almost bump into him when he stops abruptly.

I look up, towards where he's focused and recoil, a surge of panic killing any butterflies.

Dressed in shadows, casual under the orange glow of streetlights, is the one person who I wanted to avoid tonight at all costs.

Yet here he is.

Blood drains from my face, anxiety tightening my chest. I drop Masen's hand like it's scalding hot, a quiet "fuck" escaping, my pulse quickening for all the wrong reasons.

James storms towards us, my name spilling angrily from his mouth.

"B!"

Voice so loud it bounces off the buildings either side of the street. He heads straight for me, no hesitation. Stumbling backwards out of fear, Masen's arm shoots out to steady me.

"I got you."

James is irate, his words heated, incensed, his face a picture of rage. I look down, away, anywhere but him.

"Oi! Look at me! Where the fuck have you been?! Huh? Are you fuckin' _him_? You little tra-"

"No!" I find my voice, shaking my head frantically side to side.

"Don't bullshit me!" he roars and I flinch, another step back. The irony isn't lost on me.

Masen drops my bag, blocking James' path, a wall between us. He shoves him back, aggression aimed square at his chest.

"Back the fuck up."

James sneers at him, getting in his face.

"Or what pretty boy? You think you can just walk away with _my_ girl?" He sniffs and then laughs, head twitching. "Makes sense now. You jealous? Huh, bro? The other week, beatin' on me with that fat fucker cos you want her? I should fuck you up."

Masen laughs, unperturbed. Forcefully pushing him back again so hard James almost falls back.

"You and me James, lets fuckin' go!" His arms stretch out wide, inviting. My breath catches. Masen's completely dauntless and I'm not sure yet whether it's bravado or confidence. I hope to God it's the latter as I dance on my feet, nervous.

I want to leave. I want to go back ten minutes and skip out on Mr A, avoiding this situation altogether. They're starting to attract the attention of the kids down the street who've started wandering up slowly, like vultures circling, ready for the spoils.

It isn't good; Masen's a stranger in this neighbourhood. James is friendly with them, I'm not sure they won't protect one of their own. The thought makes me move closer to him, the need to get out of here overpowering.

"Masen," I urge, mouth dry, hand tugging his arm. "I just wanna go. Please."

He turns his head fractionally towards me, about to say something. A momentary lapse of concentration meaning James throws the first punch, fist colliding into the side of Masen's face, too fast for him to move out the way.

Fingers snatch at my wrist, yanking me forward, like a rag doll, the rest of me following with a little startled cry. I pull back trying to resist.

"Let go!" I beg as James tightens his grip, bruising.

"I ain't ever lettin' you go, you stupid bitch," he spits and I see that look in his eyes; the one that tells me he's sky-high. "Ain't you learned nothin' yet? You. Are. Mine. I told you. I fuck—"

Masen doesn't take any chances, just as my knees want to buckle, he propels his fist aggressively into James' face, over and over.

James lets go of me to defend himself as Masen weighs in on him brutally. I hear bones crunch: a howl of pain, blood spraying all over Masen's pristine white t-shirt as I scramble away.

James fights back; he's never taken anything lying down and he isn't about to now. A few fierce blows to Masen's ribs and head, he fights dirty; a brawler, sometimes landing his fists, but more often than not lacking any kind of impact.

Masen bounces on his feet, more controlled, dominant and James quickly realizes it. He ducks down fiddling with something... and then I see it. A flash of metal gripped in his hand, glinting in the dull street lights; a glimpse of his intent.

The name that I cry, half-strangled, isn't James'.

Masen leaps back as James lunges, slashing wildly, a serrated knife gripped tightly in his fist. He goes at Masen, forcing him back towards a wall as he manages to dodge every swing by inches.

Everything moves slowly, just me and the frantic beat of my heart but my voice—my voice screaming 'stop it' makes James turn his head. Dilated eyes land on mine and I know then I'm in for it. His fury knowing no bounds right at this minute. He's beyond all reason. He's too drugged up, he's too triggered because I care more about the man I hardly know, then the one I'm supposed to.

Fear charging through me, adrenaline pumping through my veins. Masen's voice cutting through; telling me what I already know: "_BELLA, MOVE!"_

James is hot on my tail as my hair streams behind me, feet pounding the street, up towards Masen's car.

I can feel him closing in.

We used to do this at the lakes when we were first together, a childish game of kiss chase; full of screams of laughter.

He'd always catch me.

_Always_.

Fear propels me forward, faster, but not enough. I dash behind a red car, putting it between me and him, buying me some time. He chases me this way and that, my lungs burning with gasps of air and I'm crying at him to stop, stop, stop, because I think he might actually kill me right now. I think he might really do it. And for one tiny second, I want to let him, because I'm so, so fucking tired of this shit.

Just when I think he's going to catch me. James flies forward, Masen tackling him to the ground, gun pressed to the back of his head.

One hand moves to grip the wrist of the fist holding the blade, bashing it against black tarmac until James' grip loosens and he kicks it away. Masen turns him over roughly, slamming his head into the ground and then the butt of his gun into his face repeatedly until I don't think he's going to stop, so violently I'm sure he's about to cave his skull in.

"Masen!" I cry out frantically, clutching my hair by my temples, taking in a great big breath of air as if it's my first, shaking my head, terrified. "Please, please can we go? _Please?_ He's not- he's not worth it!"

He jerks his head up, chest heaving, sweaty, blood pouring from his nose. His gaze softens slightly as he slides back on to his feet, taking car keys out of his pocket and throwing them to me.

"Get in the car," he says, grimly. Then when I don't move, "Bella, get in the car."

"B!" James rasps from the floor, his breathing labored, face covered in blood, spitting red on the sidewalk.

I swallow hard as I look at him, bloodied and battered and I feel… absolutely nothing. Nothing but regret. How did it get to _this_?

It's probably against my better judgement but I need answers and I need closure. If this is going to happen, better here, better now, right?

I ask the one question that's been plaguing me since I opened those letters. "What did you do with it?" My voice trembles, hoarse, not quite loud enough.

He hears me, but he doesn't answer. He smirks instead, wiping at his face, blood coating his hands.

"C'mon B, you come with me. I'll explain everythin' to you. You need me. How you gonna manage otherwise?"

Every few words are punctuated with sharp intakes of breath. He brings his t-shirt up to wipe the blood from his face, ink peeking on his stomach, low on his hips.

His tact as changed. I'm nothing but a game he has to win.

"What the fuck can you say to explain any of it?" I snap. "All that fuckin' shit the other week. I've had enough. We're done. I. Am. Done."

"You're overreactin'. It's not even a big deal, you weren't even supposed to know…You think you can just fuckin' walk away from me? From us? I'll find you, B, and when- when I do… I promise you you'll wish I hadn't… You just wai-"

"You ain't gonna do fuck all, you piece of shit," Masen snarls, starting towards him again.

My hand finds his arm. I don't want a repeat. Masen stops, gun pointing at James' head unwaveringly.

"I'll kill you if you come anywhere near her again."

"You're nothin'," he taunts, ignoring Masen. "You haven't got anything without me, B. The only thing you've ever been good for is sucking my dick and spreading your legs, begging for it like the slut you are."

I'm moving before I can even think, Masen catching me around the waist before I can reach James because I want to slap him, or kick him, or hurt him.

"Fuck you!"

I want to say more. I want to tell him I hate him. I want to tell him I'm worth more than that but I can't; I don't think he deserves to hear how much he affects me; I don't want him to have that power.

I turn away into Masen instead, him only relaxing his grip on me once I'm pushing past him, hurrying to the car without looking back.

Shakily I manage to open the car door, flinging myself into the passenger seat, trying to hold back tears that are already spilling. Angry at myself for allowing him to affect me like this. Angry at him for making me feel so fucking worthless, yet again. Everything I gave up for him and he boils my worth down to _nothing._

When I risk looking up, Masen has James face down in the road. His foot on his head. He's talking, face set, hard, furious.

"You got her to thank for your life tonight, you hear me? Cos if it were me you'd be dead already. Consider this your final warning." His voice is muffled through glass as he steps over him. He points his gun at point-blank range into the back of one knee and pulls the trigger. The shot echoes into the night, dogs starting to bark in the distance.

For a split second, there's silence and then there's a cry of agony so loud I'm sure it'll have woken everyone in this neighbourhood. Masen stamps a black boot-clad foot on the back of his knee for good measure before he moves away.

Wiping blood from his nose with the back of his hand, Masen talks hurriedly with the kids who've formed a group in the street a little way back, eyeing him warily.

One of them steps up with my bag as Masen points in my direction, talking fast, gun still in his hand. He fist-bumps the kid and then he's away, jogging closer and closer. He looks back every few steps to make sure no one is following then jerks the driver side door open, shoving the bag in the back and pulling out a rag, wiping bloody hands, before stashing the gun.

"Keys!" he says, breathless as he slides in. I practically throw them at him.

He pulls away, wheels screeching on asphalt, not bothering with his seatbelt. I turn and look, seeing the group of kids circling James' slumped form, one of them speaking into a cell.

"You shot him."

"He's lucky I didn't kill him."

I stare at him, a tremble to my body. I think I'm in shock.

"You shot him and we just- we've just- we just left-"

"Bella—"

"Oh my God. Is he going to die?"

"He's not going to die," Masen snorts.

I sit, struggling in the silence, shaking from head to foot. His answer placates me, a little. Despite everything, would I wish him dead?

I don't know.

Maybe.

No.

"Are you alright?" Masen asks after a moment.

I close my eyes, trying to lean back into the seat.

"Um, I'm not- I'm not sure."

I look at the red marks on my wrist, head buzzing.

"It's OK," Masen tries to reassure me, blood-covered hand reaching out to touch my own, his touch electric on my skin.

"How is any of this OK?! Jesus fucking Christ. You just shot someone and he just- he was gonna..."

Was he going to kill Masen? Me? What was he going to do when he caught me?

I close my eyes but all I see is them fighting. Every little word James spat at me, the sound of Masen firing the gun. I replay it in my head, over and over until I'm feeling sick, my head spinning. Masen's quiet for a minute, jaw jutted out.

"He ain't gonna hurt you again. He's not even gonna be walking for the next couple of months."

I'm quiet for a while and then I start laughing - a small chuckle turning hysterical, until I'm crying, my hands covering my face.

"Bella," Masen says, gently, hand on my arm. I shake my head because I can't stop. The car comes to a halt and Masen's opening my door, unbuckling me, pulling me out of the car and into his arms.

He's warm, and solid and safe and he smells so good, even if he's sweaty and bloodied. I bury my face in his chest as he cradles my head to him.

"Everything's gonna be OK," he murmurs into the top of my head. "I promise."

…

I've tried to distract myself by contemplating the line between Masen's eyebrows when they're pulled together rather the way his fists look smashing into flesh but it hasn't worked too well. Now, he's opening my door again, after pulling into secure, underground parking of a modern apartment block. I hadn't even realized he'd switched the engine off, let alone gotten out.

"C'mon," he beckons, voice echoing back from grey concrete pillars and walls. I take a deep breath, legs feeling like jelly as he takes my hand again, even though it means he covers it with sticky red blood.

The stillness of the parking lot is almost suffocating as we walk toward an elevator, the artificial lights too bright, stinging sore eyes.

We ride up to the 8th floor, stopping outside a dark green-gray door with silver fixtures telling me it's 8C. Masen fumbles with his keys, jangling them until he drops them, hands shaking, too stiff, too sore to work properly. He curses but I reach for them, picking them up—looking at him for confirmation as to which ones I need to use as he mumbles a thank you.

My eyes roam once we're inside. Open floor plan with windows running down the side, views of the city. Dark furniture, white walls, it's modern with a massive television and corner sofa. I stand awkwardly in the midst of it, not knowing what to do with myself.

"This is nice," I say inanely, as Masen walks to the kitchen, running his hands under cold water, his back turned to me.

"My sister-in-law works in real estate," he tells me as I wander over to the window looking out at people and cars moving below.

"Doc's wife?" I ask for confirmation, staring now as I see someone hailing a cab, finding it strange, all those people and they have no idea what we've just been through. No idea at all.

"That's the one."

The sound of water running stops and I turn back to look at him as he pulls open a black fridge door taking out two beers, opening them; leaving them on the smooth polished black breakfast bar.

I suddenly feel like he's too far away, so I move back towards him. He's found bags of peas, wrapping them in dishcloths and pressing them to his hands. A faint smile appears on his face as I approach and just in that fleeting moment where our eyes meet, I feel connected to him. I suppose that'll happen, over something like this when the hours that I've spent with him tonight feel like days.

He disappears across the room, through a door, returning and flinging a green first aid kit to a glass top dining table. The noise makes me jump, and he looks apologetic before pulling his beer to him and taking a long pull. I join him, reaching for mine, doing the same.

Setting it down with a clink he pulls his t-shirt over his head, craning his neck to look at his ribs. I feel like I should look away, but I don't.

He's built, and it makes me flush, all his skin, a light dusting of hair that trails down toned abs, disappearing into his waistband. He has bruises mottling one side of his ribs and as he sits down on a chair by the dining table, his face screws up in pain.

I feel so much gratitude at that moment I'm not sure what to do with it.

He tilts his head towards the ceiling, eyes still closed and it's then I look at him, like really look at him, for the first time since we left the apartment. Bruises starting to form on his face, blood oozing from his fists, his nose, on his clothes. He's beautiful with it, sharp jawline, a smattering of freckles from the sun, hair haphazard in his face. He pushes a hand through it and opens dark eyes, blinking at the ceiling, blearily.

Wordless, I unzip the first aid kit, searching for what I need. Saline solution, antiseptic wipes, cotton balls, cream, bandages. I wash my hands in the kitchen sink, all the while sensing his attention.

"You know this is going to sting, right?" I say, leaning against the table, pulling one of his hands towards me, much like he did with me hours and hours ago, my other hand loaded with a saline-drenched cotton ball.

"Yeah," he says. Then flatly, "You don't have to. I can do it."

I push my hair off my face with a huff.

"You wouldn't be in this state if it weren't- if it weren't for me, so just... let me do this. Please?"

The guilt is there because it's true. If I hadn't asked him to come to the apartment with me, he wouldn't be in this fucking mess. This is all on me.

He nods. "Worth it."

I'm not sure what he means by that.

I work silently on his hands, knuckles scraped red and raw, cleaning them up as gently as I can, even when he flinches, hissing from the sting of the antiseptic. Smoothing cream on, wrapping gauze around them to keep them protected, at least for the next couple of days. Looking after my own hand has made me confident in bandaging them up at least. I do that with practiced hands, not too tight, not too loose.

I have to move closer to him for his face, stepping between splayed knees so I can fix him up. Our proximity makes me nervous because it's not like before when I was melting down. Here there's an obvious tension fizzing away, like before, when we were outside at Janie's.

He watches me, unwaveringly, from underneath dark lashes. I'm so close to him I can see every fine line around his eyes and on his forehead, a tiny little scar on his left cheek, feel his warm breath on my hand.

"You're staring," I say after a while, tossing another bloody cotton ball into the trash can. I'm not quite sure whether it's a question or a statement. I even surprise myself for calling him out on it. I soak a fresh cotton ball in saline, dabbing it just underneath his nose to remove the last of the blood, other hand tilting his head, ghosting along stubble that scratches my thumb.

A lazy smile spreads across his face. His Adam's apple dips. "I lied earlier," he confesses. I pull back slightly to look at him, frowning.

"About what?"

"When I said you looked good…" he pauses. "You're crazy beautiful. You know that, right?"

His words hang, loaded, in the little distance between us, his face almost unreadable, but there's a little spark in his eyes, a little look of want that lights a fire low in my belly.

My heart beats double time, loud in my ears, as his hand reaches out and he sweeps a thumb across my cheek, eyes flitting to my parted lips as I open my mouth to say something, even though my mind has gone.

He lifts off his chair ever so slightly and before I know it he presses his mouth, hot and heavy, against mine.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

He pulls back slowly, gauging my reaction, searching my face.

Exhaling shakily I bring my lip between my teeth. A couple of beats pass and he goes to say something else. I don't think… I just do. I close the gap between us again; lips tentatively brushing against his, feather-light and then firmer when he responds.

Slow, heated, a little messy, his tongue on mine when I open to him, my hands wrapping around his neck when he stands fully, walking me a step back and pushing me gently against the table. His hands wander, cupping my face and then curling fingertips into my hips, pulling me closer, making this noise in his throat that sends tremors down my spine.

It's like before never happened. It's like we're in this little bubble of me and him and nothing else outside of it matters. We just are. This just is.

He brushes thumbs over the top of my breasts, over the delicate lace where my nipples are. Mouths moving with a little more direction, a little more urgency and it's so… _so_ fucking good; I whimper.

Trailing his mouth across my cheek to my jaw, down my neck, grazing teeth against skin, he finds a point he likes, tongue darting out to taste flesh, sucking, bruising. I shiver, head lolled to the side.

"If I were a better man, I'd stop," he says with a heavy sigh.

"Don't be one then," I tell him, desire burning hot. I want this; I want him; an ache between my legs, begging to be soothed. Pressing his forehead against mine he lowers his mouth to kiss me deeply again.

He groans and then he tears himself away. Hands squeezing my waist. "I want you," he admits quietly. "So fuckin' bad."

I don't want to sound as desperate as I feel, so I'm silent, watching him as he wars with himself, eyes burning into mine. He can't help himself though, to my relief, and his mouth moves to cover mine again, unhurried, with so much intensity, I feel like I could drown in it.

He groans gutturally, hands pushing denim up roughly, lifting me onto the table, gripping bare thighs as he slides in between my legs. Our kisses becoming fraught, fingers trailing anticipation as my legs hook around the back of his and he presses himself, hard, right where I want him. Fingers slide under my skirt finding the edges of tiny lace panties, starting to pull them away, my own fumbling with the button of his jeans.

A phone blares suddenly, the ringtone jarring.

We both freeze.

Masen swears loudly, leaving me panting into his chest.

"I gotta get this," he says, apologetically, digging in his back pocket and bringing out his cell, sliding it open.

"Yeah?" he says, annoyed, still gripping my waist with his spare hand, finding the belt loops on my skirt and tugging at them.

Someone's speaking fast on the other end. Masen's silent, expression blank.

"Yeah, I know."

My hand reaches out to touch his skin, and I smile when he tenses under my fingertips, leisurely tracing patterns over his abs, up towards his pecks and then down low just above the waistband of his boxers. He shudders, his dick twitching through his jeans and I can't contain my smirk.

"Well, we told him, didn't we? So sort it out, Ben, stop bein' a fuckin' pussy!" He pauses, listening, before he speaks again. "Can't it wait?" he says and glances down at me. He listens intently, his hand leaving my waist and pinching the bridge of his nose, and then grimacing in pain as he remembers his face is fucked up. "Are you fuckin' kidding me? Fine. Fine. I'll be there, gimmie an hour."

_Pause_

"Yeah, you are… Piss off, man!" He snaps his cell closed, tossing it on the table. "Fuck," he curses again and pulls his beer towards him, taking a swig.

Whatever moment we were in has gone.

Masen screws his face up, and then winces, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck and hanging his head against mine with a regretful sigh.

"You gotta go?" I say, a little lost.

"Yeah," he looks down at me, bringing a hand under my chin, a soft kiss on tender lips. "Believe me, I don't wanna go anywhere right now."

I know that because I don't want to go anywhere right now either.

"Stay," he says after a beat.

I don't need to think.

I just tell him yes.

…

He leaves after changing his clothes; the loss of his presence more noticeable then I want it to be. I don't know why it makes such a difference but after everything tonight; I feel like I need him around; closer.

I sit with my eyes shut for a long time, not quite understanding how so much has happened in one night. Eventful, an understatement. It smacks of days I'd ditch school, smoke up at a friend's, drink until I was numb and wake up beside somebody, somewhere else.

And him. And those words and his mouth. God. A result of impulsiveness and circumstances, but I'd be lying to myself if it didn't feel good; if I didn't want him. I allow myself to think that he might have wanted to do that for a while. He's hard to read though, I wasn't expecting him to kiss me.

James' words rattle around my head. Maybe he just thinks I'm easy. I feel shame creep over me.

_Maybe that's what I am… an easy fuck. _

I open doors onto a small balcony, sitting on a black metal chair and watch the city, smoking until I can't feel my fingers, mind too wired to sleep. He said he wouldn't be that long.

Then what?

Retreating back inside, I spend a good five minutes trying to figure out how to get his TV to work, and another five flicking mindlessly through channels until I'm on rolling news. I leave it on, trying not to think of everything bad that happened tonight, trying not to think at all, my eyes heavy.

I swear I only close them for a second, resting my head on a cushion that molds just right before I'm being woken by the sound of the door. It's still dark out as I lift my head, alertness pulsing, the glow of TV brightening the room.

"It's just me," he says footsteps coming closer, and I lay my head back down. "Go back to sleep." I'm vaguely aware of something warm being pulled over me, and then the feather-light feeling of lips grazing my forehead.

My dreams become more vivid, memories being pulled up from the depths of where I've tried to shut them away. James and his fists and his temper, and him chasing me tonight, and that one time I told him no and he didn't stop. I didn't even try to fight him off, I just let it happen and buried the memory away under shit I don't think about ever.

I wake up with a start, gasping, sticky with sweat, a whimper on my lips. My vision is blurry and my heart pounds so fast because it's like I can feel his touch on my skin. It makes it crawl; I want to shed it. I want to scrub it raw.

I blink and blink and try to breathe, but he's choking me, hands on my throat, my hands on my throat trying to tear them away.

"Hey, hey," Masen says, his face swimming into view, fingers gently prying away my hands from my neck. "It's OK. Just bad dreams."

I shake my head, breathing still ragged, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes.

"Memories." I screw up my face. "_Shit_."

I don't meet his eyes. I can't. I pick at the bobbles of the blanket he must have covered me with, brown and purple check.

"I shoulda put a bullet in his head," he tells me, regretfully. "Pasted his brain to the ground."

"It wouldn't change anything," I say with a hapless shrug. Because it doesn't, it won't. He can't take what James has done, back. No one can. I repeat the words I said to him earlier. "He's not worth it."

He's quiet as he sits next to me, staring into the dark, his bruised profile illuminated by the glow of the TV, flashes of moving images reflected in his eyes.

"You remember I said you reminded me of someone, that mornin', at the pier?" he says suddenly, into the stillness between us.

"Yeah," I say slowly. When I accused him of pitying me.

He sighs heavily leaning back on the sofa, turning towards me. "You reminded me of my Mom."

"Your Mom?" I'm surprised, the implication creeping over me slowly. His _Mom_?

"She lost her first husband—Carl's dad—when he was real young. Met mine; he was a deadbeat drunk. Used to beat her black and blue just for breathin' wrong. Carl too. I didn't suffer much in comparison." He pulls out his cigarettes and offers me one. I slide one out as he puts one to his mouth, sparking up and inhaling deeply before doing mine.

"She left him when I was 'bout sixteen, but he found me and her. Poured acid on her. She almost didn't live. Carl blames me. I should've fought him harder, but I wasn't- I wasn't like what I am now."

"You were a kid," I shake my head, feeling sickened. I swallow hard. "It wasn't your fault." I pause, letting smoke fill my lungs. I'm so sorry, about your Mom. Is she-" I stumble trying to search for the right words.

"She's does all these motivational talks now, church shit. Keeps her busy."

"Like—helping people - in similar situations?" He nods and then I tentatively ask "And - and your Dad?"

"Dead," he replies coolly. I don't pry any more but there's a heaviness around that word that lingers.

I feel like he's just broken down a wall, let me see a bit of him. Let me know him in a way I don't think he offers of himself, very much.

He looks at me with fierce eyes. "I knew it was the same for you the minute I saw your face by that motel. Layin' his hands on you; sendin' you to do his shit cus he knew he'd fucked up. Fuckin' coward."

He takes a long inward drag, a slight shake to his hands. "I should've killed him, tonight. I wanted to. I wanted to do that for you. I thought he was gonna—"

I move closer to him suddenly, arms finding his neck, a kiss to his cheek, I don't want to hear him say it. He pulls me closer to him, free arm around my waist, silenced.

"I hope you know that everythin' he said was utter bullshit."

_Was it?_

"C'mon," he says after a while, stubbing out his cigarette and tugging me up to my feet.

He leads us to his bedroom and settles on the bed. "Sleep. I'm right here."

I crawl next to him, on the side furthest away from the door on soft, dark covers that smell just as intoxicatingly good as he does. Rolling on his side, his chest is against my back, so close I can feel his breath on my neck as he wraps an arm around me, the weight comforting, like an anchor, stopping me from floating away in a sea of emotion. He shifts closer, a kiss on the back of my neck that leaves tingles down my spine.

Falling back asleep, I'm lulled by security, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the baby soft touches of his fingers against my skin.

…

I wake before he does, his alarm clock telling me it's almost two in the afternoon, sunlight on his head from undrawn curtains. We've shifted in sleep, my legs entwined with his, my head in the crook of his neck. He's discarded his t-shirt in the night, his ribs black and blue, his face the same. And he did that for me. For _me_.

My thoughts cloud with images of last night and I slowly ease myself off the bed, padding quietly out the room in search of a glass of water and my bag. I need a smoke and a shower, in that order.

He's still sleeping soundly when I creep back into the room and head for his bathroom. Everything in his apartment is fancy, it takes me far too long to figure out the walk-in shower but eventually I manage it, peeling off last night's clothes.

I end up sniffing his shower gel because he always smells damn good and I wonder whether it'd be too weird if I use it. I figure he won't mind or care, so I do it.

As soon as I turn the shower off, I can hear his voice through the door.

"I don't give a fuck. I want it done."

There's silence.

"Yeah. Well, we'll have to wait but this needs to be fuckin' meticulous… yeah, I'm sure. Look, have I ever let you down? Exactly…"

He's pacing with his phone to his head when I come out of the bathroom, skinny black jeans and an old band t-shirt I've had since I was thirteen, knotted to the side because it's far too long. He looks up and he sees me shower fresh, wet hair thrown up in a messy bun and the look on his face makes me feel hot all over.

He returns his attention briefly back to the conversation. "Sure. Yeah man, see you later." He hangs up, tossing his cell on the bed, bare feet pushing into plush grey carpet as he walks over to me, all sculpted muscle and unmarked skin.

He doesn't try to jump me, like I kind of want him to, even though I can see the heat in his eyes; feel it in his hands; gripping my body and pulling me close. He asks me if it's OK, and when I say yes he kisses me with a want that leaves me weak kneed.

…

Speeding through a sleepy Sunday city the afternoon sun sinks lower in the sky as Masen drives me to Maria's. There's this unspoken thing between us now. After yesterday, after last night, and I'm not sure how to deal with it, how to handle it... so I don't. I want to hold on to the feeling too badly to want to broach it.

Masen made us pizza and we talked, a lot. Well, I talked, he listened and asked questions. I made him laugh and I liked doing that, even though it made him wince afterwards because of his face. He's surprised when he finds out I'm not quite twenty-two, and he has nine years on me. He didn't think I was that young, but I shrug it off. James wasn't that much younger than him.

Words burn in my mouth as we get to Maria's part of town until I blurt them out. "That girl, from last night…" I taper off, unsure of myself. It's none of my business, really, but I need to know now.

"Kate?" he says, clearing his throat. "We hooked up a couple of times a few months back... But fuck, she's a shit loada crazy. Thought it made us somethin' that we weren't and whenever she sees me, she's like a dog with a fuckin' bone. Try to avoid her, but sometimes it's impossible, especially when Alec has me fuckin' babysitting." He grimaces.

The way he talks so frankly relaxes me, but the thought of her being with him makes my green-eyed monster blaze. "I just thought maybe she was a girlfriend, y'know."

"Not a fuckin' chance."

Masen surveys Maria's neighbourhood with sharp eyes once we're on her street, but I have to lean forward and point out the exact house otherwise he would have driven straight past it.

He stops me from opening the car door straight away, hand on mine.

"Does James know you're here?" he asks seriously.

I shake my head. "I don't think so."

"You don't think, ain't really good enough, Bella," he tells me.

"No."

This makes him nod, jaw untensing. "He shouldn't be a problem no more, but if you even suspect he's lookin' for you need to let me know. I'll deal with it."

He pulls out his wallet, taking out all the bills.

"Take this."

"What? I can't... Masen, I take your money, " I say, alarmed.

"I don't need it. It's just to tied you over, see you through. Please. Take it."

I'm still hesitating when he turns my hand over and closes my fist around the wad of cash.

"I want you to have it."

"OK, " I relent. "Thank you. This is... Just- thank you. Maybe I can pay you back someday?"

"I don't need you to do that, " he says shaking his head.

Walking me to the door, the key isn't even halfway into the lock when his hand finds mine again and he stills the movement, spinning me around and backing me against it, kissing me hard, hand in my hair, leaving me breathless.

His phone goes off from his pocket again and I have to laugh. He ignores it this time.

"I want to see you again."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Turn your phone on, I'll call you. If you want?" He sweeps hair off my face, a rush of elation spreading as he looks down at me.

"I do. Want. I mean, yes," I say, stumbling over my words.

With one last searing kiss and a smile so big it devastates me, he jogs down the steps and jumps in his car. I watch him leave, the car roaring down the street until it's out of sight, pressing my fingers to my mouth, my lips still tingling, skin tender.

I realize then he must have tried calling me, before this, at some point in the week when my phone has been off and it makes my heart skip.

Opening the door fully, quietly, there's nothing that prepares me for the flurry of movement that scoops me up with relieved squeals.

"It's her, she's here!" My brain does a double-take as Charlotte, in the flesh, pulls back and looks at me checking me over from head to toe. "Where the fuck have you been? We've been goin' out of our minds here!"

Apologies tumble out of my mouth as Maria appears behind Charlotte, pale as shit, eyes red like she's been crying.

"B! You got no idea how worried we were. I know I said to get under a guy, babe, but I didn't expect you to just fuckin' disappear! We were just about to report you missin'!"

...

Spreading out in the living room, Charlotte sits on the sofa next to me, Maria by my feet, rubbing her hand on my leg like she has to touch me to believe that I'm really here.

I explain everything, as best as I can, not leaving any detail out. Charlotte is unable to contain herself when I tell them about Masen shooting James.

Her mouth gapes, her neon-bright orange nails flapping. "Shit! Like, with a gun?"

"Um, yeah. In his knee?"

Her eyebrows have disappeared up her forehead.

"He capped him? Now that is some wild ass shit. I mean, he deserves it, a hundred percent—coming after you with a knife? Was he…" she trails off.

"I don't know, I don't know what he was gonna do if he caught me." I shiver, involuntary, feeling tearful just thinking about it.

"And Masen saved you. Geez. Your life is like a shitty Lifetime movie. So fuckin' romantic," Charlotte pipes up.

I shake my head. "Trust me, there was nothing romantic about him almost caving James' head in. It was terrifying." I fiddle with the edge of the sofa, pinching the worn piping between my fingers. "Fuckin' terrifying. All of it."

They both wrap me up in a tangle of arms as tears slip down my cheeks. The magnitude of it coming in waves, trying to soothe me with the positives, too much black coffee and Taco Bell takeout; Charlotte's treat.

I'm intending on leaving out what happened with Masen at his, but Charlotte is staring at me, her chalupa supreme halfway to her mouth, bits dropping out into her wrapper.

"Sooo..."

Because there's a whole chunk of time unaccounted for and she knows it. They both do.

"So what?" I say, just delaying the inevitable.

"So that accounts for one portion of the night, where were you for the rest?"

"I was at Masen's place," I concede, after swallowing a mouthful of burrito.

"Mmmhmm," Maria says. "Did you let him hit it? Urgh, I would've if someone had saved my life."

"You're a hoe with fuck all morals though," Charlotte snarks.

Maria slaps her playfully. "Shut up. Did you?"

"No."

"But…" Charlotte says rolling her hand, motioning at me to spill. I sigh, licking sauce off my fingers.

"I fixed him up- you know his hands- face. He um, he kissed me." I swallow, feeling flush just thinking about him. "It was heavy… goin' somewhere, y'know? Then his cell went off. He had to leave but he asked me to stay. He came back, offloaded about some really fucked up stuff in his past and after that, we slept in his bed, like, _just_ sleeping. He kissed me a few more times today and says he wants to see me. He's gonna call."

Charlotte claps her hands excitedly and I stare at her.

"I knew it! I knew he liked you! Girl, I clocked it that first time. You were all he looked at." She's self-satisfied and excited but then her face drops into seriousness. "Look, all I'm gonna say though, B, for real, is be freakin' careful. Don't go rushing into things when you've just finished with _him_. Spend some time workin' on you. You deserve that."

I frown at her, at her one-eighty, but I guess she's only asking the same things I've been tossing around in my head.

"I… I dunno, Char, it feels—it felt right."

"Mmmhmm. I bet it did," Maria giggles.

"With all the shit with—with _him _over the last few weeks, it's like I'm over it. I was done. Way past done and I—maybe it was just the adrenaline rush of the fight or somethin'."

"I'm bettin' on somethin'. Boy got it bad," Charlotte replies, screwing up her wrapper.

I smile faintly, looking at my hands, hoping she's right.

Hoping he'll call.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Masen doesn't call.

A month has crawled by since that night. Since James. Since him. Scorching hot August crossing into a chilled September, my birthday coming up fast but I don't feel like celebrating it, at all.

I think about him. His hands on my body, his mouth moving with mine. How he tasted, the growl in his throat, those words he said and hasn't done anything about.

I changed my number the day after I last saw him; a new SIM, with only three people I thought were trustworthy being given my new number. Charlotte, Maria and him; everyone else could wait. I wasn't sure who else I could trust not to give it to James.

He text once saying he was out of state and couldn't call and then I haven't heard from him again, and it eats me up. I don't understand.

I've tried not to get hung up on it because, at the end of the day, we weren't anything: a few kisses mean nothing—I know this. It could've been the fight that made him impulsive. I'm sure I've read that before; with pro-athletes, their sex drive is higher after an event. And isn't that kind of what happened? He was on a comedown from fighting and I was there, wanting and willing.

He's probably moved on to better things. No one is going to want me and my shit ton of baggage; who am I kidding?

I yawn, tired. Vivid nightmares keeping me from any kind of restful sleep; draining me. Usually, flashbacks to James; his fists, him chasing me that night, his whispered threats making my skin cry cold sweat against my sheets. I spend the rest of the night wide awake unable to sleep for shit, mind churning over every little thing.

Sometimes my nightmares are about my Papà and Mamma. I can't quite remember those when I wake up, just snatches of things that don't make sense and leave an unpleasant feeling in the pit of my stomach.

It makes nights long, even when I'm ridiculously tired from my days job hunting, and it makes me wary, even in broad daylight on the city streets I'm watching, double-checking, in case James suddenly appears, which isn't really as a ridiculous idea as it seems. He isn't dead, so it's always a possibility.

Picking up my cell, holding one of the payment demands in my hand I dial yet another number.

...

"I'm sorry ma'am, without a crime reference number the liability to pay off your credit card remains with yourself. I can transfer you through to our credit management team if you need help managing your payments…"

The woman on the phone parrots the same line at me, making my fists ball. I bite back frustrated words - it's not her fault, but it makes me feel like crying and lashing out because she sounds like she doesn't believe a word I'm saying and it's the truth, for fuck's sake.

"Fine. Yes. Please." This is the third company I've rung today and safe to say I'm getting nowhere.

I manage to get them to halt collections temporarily for six weeks whilst I try to find a job, but the interest will keep on growing. As if it isn't crippling enough already.

The price for my freedom, I guess. I keep having to remind myself it's worth it but all it seems to do is weigh me down, like a block of concrete tossed in the sea; I'm drowning and there's no way out.

Maria and Charlotte can't understand why I don't report James to the cops - identity theft, fraud; he'd go down. But I can't. I can't even explain it to them, why. It's impossible.

Finding a job seems impossible too; my hunt so far fruitless. It's not like I'm not trying, I'm out most days scouring shops and restaurants, bars and clubs but no one wants a high school dropout with no qualifications and a patchy—at best—employment history.

The news keeps saying there's a global slow down—there are talks of a recession; the economy shrinking. People are losing their jobs and their homes and if the qualified are struggling to find work, then what chance in hell do I have?

I'd started off upbeat; possibilities being endless, but it's all bullshit, my optimism ebbing away with each passing day. A fresh start, with a constant reminder of my past. Reality bites and I feel similar to when I first came here; listless and hopeless.

I stare hard at a patch of floral wallpaper opposite my bed, faded by sunlight, cell held so tightly in my hand my knuckles are white. Pretty soon I won't have any cash at all and then what?

The doorbell rings and I get up sluggishly, shuffling down the corridor and opening it to find Charlotte with a bag of takeout, jiggling her legs as it pours with rain outside.

"Hurry it up, B, not like the food's getting cold or I'm getting wet here or anythin'."

She pushes past me and I roll my eyes behind her back, following her into the living room as she plonks herself on the sofa.

We've gone back to normal; apologies accepted, sides explained. That's when you know you have a good friend, I think. When you can put something like that behind you, when you've been apart for a while and can just pick up where you left off like nothing's happened in between.

She's already dividing up the plastic containers with Chinese as I throw myself into the sagging armchair, legs hanging over the side, swinging them like the angst-ridden teenager I feel.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Bad day."

"Well, you know who else has had a bad freakin' day? Troy. I ditched his sorry ass." She's licking sauce off each of her fingers as she offers up my little tub of saturated goodness and it doesn't even gross me out.

"What? Why? I thought he was 'the one'?"

"Well, when one still lives with one's Momma, it kinda puts a big ol' damper on gettin' that big ol' dick."

"You live with your Momma," I point out, dryly.

"Yeah, but I'm twenty-two, not thirty. I at least want a man with his own place, y'know?"

She's putting on a front. I can tell by the way she's talking at her nails and not to me. She can lie, but she can't lie well.

"What's the real reason?" I pry.

She picks at a nail, bringing it up to her lip and biting it before responding.

"Truth? He was clingy as fuck. Had a massive tantrum the time you were stayin' with me. Not cool, right? I told him that and he didn't understand! He still brings it up now, like a lil' bitch."

She takes a sip of her Coke, slurping.

"Anyways, I told him straight. My chicks come before any dick; he couldn't handle it. To be honest, he couldn't handle me at all." She smirks at me a little. "All that cock and no idea how to use it."

I choke back a laugh behind my hand and when I compose myself I tell her, "Sorry." Because I feel guilty, my situation forced hers.

"Honey, not your fault, if a guy can't understand I need to help a friend when my friend needs me, it just… wasn't meant to be. Besides, there's plenty more dick in the streets, y'know?"

She moves on, asking where Maria is. So I tell her she's out, I think her and Petey are starting up again. She's been on her phone a lot with one of those frustratingly self-satisfied smiles on her face and I'd be so glad if those two could just make it work, this time.

Charlotte scoffs a little.

"We'll see about that. I'd place a bet on them not lastin' past Christmas. Petey deserves better."

She's probably right; she normally is about these things but I don't voice my opinion out aloud.

...

My birthday dawns miserable and grey, rain splattering against the window unrhythmically. I lie there until Maria and Charlotte burst in, dragging me out of bed still in my cami and sleep shorts, screeching their way through "Happy Birthday".

They surprised me with a fancy oversized cupcake with rainbow frosting and a single striped pink candle stuck on top.

"Happy Birthday, Baby B!"

"Make a wish!"

I think for a minute watching the flame dance in front of my eyes before closing them and blowing gently.

Charlotte snaps a picture on her chunky digital camera, saying she'll upload it to some social media website apparently everyone is signing up for.

"You two have to join up so I can add you as friends," Charlotte tells us, twirling curly hair around a finger as I take my time eating all the sponge, breaking bits off and popping them into my mouth.

"Sounds lamer than MySpace," Maria says, leaning against the kitchen counter, a cup of coffee in her hands. "I could customize that shit all day a couple of years ago."

I'm swiping at the icing now, sucking it off my finger. "I don't get the draw. They both sound terrible, who wants to put up pictures of themselves and what they're doing so people can basically stalk the shit out of you and judge you behind your back."

"My little ray of sunshine," Charlotte coos, patting me on the head. "Maria and I were talking last night. We think you could do with a night out for your birthday, have some fun. Our treat."

…

They take me to a club downtown that costs too much to get in and makes me eye up other girls, insecure about how I look and how put together they are with expensive outfits and haircuts. I hate constantly comparing myself, but I can't stop myself from doing it anyway.

Gold hoops in my ears, fake tan enhancing my olive skin, and a little green dress that clings; my hair long and silky straight tonight. I think I look OK as I catch my reflection in the mirror above the booth we're squeezing into, but I'm definitely not anything special. I mean why would Masen want me, when he could have any girl? No wonder he hasn't called.

Charlotte goes to the bar to grab our first round of drinks leaving Maria distracting me, chatting shit about some girl she works with screwing their boss on the regular.

"I mean, I don't care but she makes out she's better than us because of it. Driving me up the wall, her and her attitude. She's a freakin' monster."

"Ignore her," I tell Maria, "Just do your thing. Maybe it'll end badly and he'll get rid of her."

"I'd prefer it if I could tear out her shitty hair extensions," she grumbles and I laugh because I can imagine her doing that if she were mad enough.

I get nicely drunk; tipsy drunk, where girls in the restroom become best friends drunk, insecurities at the start of the night dissolving into gushing compliments and slurred professions of love and random number swapping. Charlotte is the worst for this and I am awkwardly there at her side bathing in it too, some girl yakking on about my skin and my boobs and how her boyfriend paid for her to have hers done, grabbing them and pushing them together. They look pretty good, in all fairness so I make her beam by telling her just that.

We dance until the early hours and I ignore any male attention thrown my way, not in the mood, still moping about Masen. Charlotte is far too snap-happy with her camera taking way too many pictures of us at awkward angles. Apparently, this is a thing now.

Finally, with my feet aching, we decide to call it a night, taking a cab back to Maria's after picking up a takeaway. We're halfway to the door when Maria lets out a shriek, tellings us she's left chicken wings on the back seat of the cab and for some reason, it's absolutely hilarious to her. She's in hysterics, doubled over, face streaming, infecting us all until we're a giggling heap by the front door.

"I'm tempted to text him," I say, taking a deep toke of the joint I just rolled, then a smaller one before passing, my lungs burning as we mellow out on the floor in the living room.

"Who? Masen?" Maria says, flipping onto her front to look at me.

"Mmmm."

"Nah, girl. Fuck him. His loss," Charlotte says, mid-inhale from her position on the sofa.

"But I like him. Liked him. Whatever."

"Honey, _he_ said he'd call. He hasn't; which is a dick move cus who doesn't call your fine ass? But you makin' any kinda contact right now is, like, an act of desperation. Don't do it. You don't need anyone in your life who plays games like that, B. Know your worth," she drawls as Maria hums in agreement.

"I love you two," I say after a while, so grateful to have them both here with me, right now. "Thanks for my birthday, bitches."

...

I stay up till the room is no longer spinning, downing a glass of water, high wearing off. Maria and Charlotte sleeping soundly down the corridor.

My thoughts wander to Papà. Is he thinking of me at all? Acknowledging my existence as he rots in maximum security? Probably not. I wonder whether he regrets deceiving Nonna. Even right at the end he never admitted his guilt to her. And I still think he is. Guilty. For what he did.

I think hard about Mamma too, searching and racking my brain for snatches of memories. I can't though and it frustrates me to no end. I wish I could've known her. Every little thing a little girl should take for granted is every little thing I missed out on. Braiding my hair, bedtime stories, helping with homework, prying into shit she shouldn't, talking to me about periods and boys and sex.

I mean, I had Nonna, but it's not the same. I don't think. I don't know. I miss Nonna so much it hurts. She was the only mother figure I had, but it doesn't stop me imagining how different life could've been. Our final years were fraught because of my attitude and her illness. I rebelled and she couldn't tame me. No matter what she said or did, I was angry. At her. At Papà. At myself. Even at Mamma. We argued all the time, she swore to get Papà involved but she never would and I knew it. The shit I pulled. And look where it landed me eventually... with James. Maybe that was my karma.

I think about our final conversations. I'd know when, she had said, pushing envelopes into my hands. She was frail, pale, paper white skin, and a hollowness in her cheeks from cancer that had spread and devastated her in less than a year.

_You'll know when_.

Overcome with the sudden urge to look, I grab my rucksack, and sit cross-legged on my bed, pulling them from the bottom.

Now seems as good a time as any. I stare at them for a couple of minutes, lighting a cigarette.

I open the first one, gently peeling back the seal, yellowed from years of being unopened. It tears in different places as I make a mess of opening it but then I'm pulling out paper, hardly breathing with the anticipation.

A City of New York birth certificate taunts me, pink and blue, the name on it printed in neat handwriting.

Isabella Marie Falcone

Born in Queens on the 13th of September. A whole twenty-two years ago.

Daughter of Calogero and Renata.

I know this though. I know this is who I was born. It isn't who I am now though. The next piece of paper confirms it.

I died. Age four.

Except... I didn't.

There's more but I feel so sickened I don't have the stomach to carry on. I stuff everything back in the envelope, back to the bottom of the rucksack, back underneath the bed, hidden, where secrets need to stay.

...

Hands smelling faintly of bleach after cleaning the whole house, I'm lying on the sofa absentmindedly flicking through an adult education pamphlet I picked up from the library.

Everything costs money. I know I want to get my GED and then maybe go to school for something, but I'm not sure what yet. Pipe dreams, obviously, but I left Phoenix because James said I could do my GED here; rather than waiting for a couple of months to pass for me to actually graduate high school. He wanted to leave, and after Nonna died… that's what we did.

I didn't know what else to do.

We fought about it so much when we first came here and then there was always some excuse why I couldn't. But even a GED is over a hundred dollars and I have precisely twenty-two dollars and sixteen cents left to my name.

Maria stalks into the room, primped and ready to go to work.

"Any luck?" she asks. I shake my head.

"No. What the fuck is wrong with me?"

"Nothing is wrong with you, babe. Look, let me put in a word for you at the club. Just come in with me tomorrow—we'll go in the afternoon, introduce you, you can get a feel of the place. It's great actually, real classy, not like some of the dives I've worked in. Besides, if you don't start payin' off that money soon you'll be in a heap more shit."

She touches the nerve that makes me feel sick.

"Fine," I relent, dropping my head into my hands. "But I'm not stripping."

Maria claps her hands excitedly and blows me a kiss.

"I'll talk to Paul. He's gonna love you, I know it. Catch you later, babe!"

...

Everything about Bliss oozes expense. It's not anything like I thought it would be. Marble, gold, neons, plush velvet chairs, and black polished floors. It's more like a hotel lobby with a stage then a strip club, the only thing that differentiates it is the numerous poles. It prides itself on exclusivity, apparently.

"Paul!" Maria calls as we walk into the space. I spot a guy in a black button-down and black slacks behind the most well-stocked bar I've seen in my life. Neon lights run around it, lighting it up in reds and pinks and yellows. He's got a pencil behind his ear, slicked-back hair, and a green file in his hand which he snaps shut, grinning. He's pretty good-looking.

Maria takes my hand and walks me over, closing the distance quickly. She squeezes my arm and then breaks off. "Paul, this is Bella; my friend I was talking about." She's excited, gesturing us to each other with fluttering hands.

Paul looks at me, a smile creeping on his face. "Hi there," he drawls. "Nice to meet you," he takes my hand firmly and brings his lips to kiss the back of it. I'm squirming inside, uncomfortable, but I smile politely. I need a job. I need a job. Even if this is temporary, I need a fucking job.

"Hi," I say, a little shyly. "Nice to meet you too," His smile grows wider, and he glances to Maria.

"Maria tells me you're looking for a job, that about right?"

"Sure is."

"Well, let's see what we can do."

He gives me the rundown of a few positions he has available: bar staff and then the hostesses. They cater to the larger groups—bachelor and bachelorette parties, groups of businessmen—with the VIP rooms they have available. They're like glorified waitresses. He explains that tips are your own to keep and don't top up your wages, which is new to me, but being given a paycheque will be a novelty to me too.

He rocks on his feet slightly in polished black shoes, then points to the stage, poles spaced out at various points around it.

"Do you dance?"

"Not really. I don't know the first thing about it," I tell him, honestly.

"Listen, I'm gonna be frank with you. You'd earn well if you did. Probably treble whatever you'd get hosting. It's a fact, the girls on the stage earn more, private dances—y'know, that's where the money is."

I feel uneasy, looking at Maria, wondering how much of my situation he knows. She keeps smiling and I get the feeling she's already talked to him about all of this. He presses on.

"Now, you say you don't really dance. But how about this? You come in with Maria a few times a week before the club opens and she'll teach you, show you some moves, routines and the like, and I'll take you on as a hostess. You've definitely got the look we like here. If you get the hang of it and wanna shot at earning some real dollar, then it's always an option. There's no pressure."

My eyes dart to Maria and she's nodding her head encouragingly.

"This is a fantastic opportunity, babe."

I want to ask what the catch is because it all sounds too good to be true; he hasn't even asked my experience yet… but I need a job and this is a start. I can always keep on applying elsewhere.

"Um, well, I guess. Yeah, sounds great," I agree.

Paul looks thrilled, pearly whites practically glowing. "Great, well, how about you come in with Maria tomorrow afternoon, we'll get all your details sorted, and you kitted out?"

"Kitted out?"

"All tasteful, I promise," he says with a wink. He glances at his watch. "I need to shoot the restock order over to the suppliers, but you have a good evening, Bella. Maria, are you sticking around till you start?"

Maria nods. "Sure."

Paul walks off with a little nod of his head and Maria walks me out to the street and daylight.

"I'll try to figure out some simple flow for you, B. This is going to be so much fun!"

I'm really not convinced.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

_Three months later_

The dressing room is buzzing. Zafrina is across from me putting on a cream lace bodysuit that contrasts with her dark skin and sky-high perspex heels. She's insanely beautiful, like a young Naomi Campbell, minus the diva attitude.

She grins at me and I smile back at her from my reflection, applying red lipstick in the mirror, inwardly groaning as I see Paul making his way towards me.

I'd like him more if he would stop trying to get me to go out with him. He's an attractive-looking guy, but he's not my type. I don't even know what my type is, really. But not him. The only person I've been really attracted to recently was Masen. Even the thought of him sends me out of kilter.

He wanted me, but not enough, it seems. I'm not sure whether I had imagined that intensity between us, before. That pull I felt for him. It feels like such a long time ago, now though. His silence speaking volumes.

As Charlotte said; never mind. There's nothing I can do but move forward, you can't force anyone to like you; want you, no matter your own feelings.

"I've got some important guests booked in VIP one," Paul says from behind me as I finish a second application, his face looming closer in the mirror. "I want you to look after them tonight, Bella, OK?"

"Sure thing. Don't I always?" I rub my lips together.

"You do," he agrees. "Be _extra_ attentive. Anything they want, it's theirs." He moves closer, hand finding my waist as he leans in, mouth almost on my ear. "Between you and me, one of them is interested in buying this place. I'll stop in early on to discuss business, OK?"

I blot on white tissue. "OK." No pressure then.

He squeezes my waist, kisses my cheek, and leaves.

"Could he be any more obvious?" Zafrina says, with a roll of her eyes as soon as he's out of earshot. "Don't even go there girl, he tosses every bitch to the side after he gets what he wants. Just ask Jess. Also, the reports are _not_ favorable, if you get what I'm sayin'."

I'd rather not ask Jess anything. She and I don't get on. Well, she doesn't like me, that much is clear.

"Don't plan on touchin' him, Zaf. You look amazing, by the way. You want in on VIP? Sounds like high rollers."

"Sure thing. I'm on stage at eleven but get me in for a couple of hours if you can and the rest I'll fill with privates."

I check my reflection one last time, ignoring the way Jess and Emily look me up and down as I pass, turning to each other whispering and giggling. Sometimes the bitchiness here is worse than in high school, I swear.

Heels tapping rhythmically down the corridor, I push open the red door leading onto the main floor, smoothing a hand over the green silk slip skirt high on my waist, short on my legs, tight everywhere, matching green bralet hugging my tits.

"Alright there, sweetheart?" Sam says, suited and booted in head to toe black, earpiece curling down his neck. He dips down to give me a one armed-hug. "Ready for the pre-Christmas onslaught?"

"Urgh, no. But let's see how it goes. At least we're busy." I glance around, the place is already crawling with people, the music thumping, some girls already dancing on stage in barely there lingerie.

He grins. "Let me know if you have any trouble, I'm itching for a good punch up and there's just somethin' in the air tonight." He sniffs as if he's trying to smell it out.

I roll my eyes. "You bouncers, I swear. Go organise a fight club or somethin'." His grin gets wider. "But yeah, I'll let you know. You know I will."

…

I land a rowdy bachelor party off the bat, fielding the mouthy, filthy remarks with flirty winks and banter, paying special attention to the groom who begs me for a kiss, cheeks flushed red, already drunk. They tip well, and I'm grateful because most reserve their dollars for the entertainment and not the glorified wait staff, which is what I am.

Stuff like this, when I first started here, used to make me feel so awkward and uncomfortable I almost quit. I hated it. Those first few weeks were a baptism of fire and I cried a lot. After a full-blown panic attack, Maria gave me a hug, a bump of coke, and told me to 'fake it till you make it,' and surprisingly that advice has made everything a lot easier.

Now it's like I slip on a mask and I actually kind of enjoy it. Charlotte just thinks I'm becoming more myself; more confident, like a flower starting to bloom.

Lauren beckons me over an hour before midnight, telling me Paul's guests have shown up.

"You lucky bitch," she says. "Two of them are fine as fuck." She's practically salivating as she adjusts her fake boobs in her little strappy dress.

"If you say so."

I go to the bathroom to check my reflection, smoothing my dark hair, loose waves framing my face, topping up my lipstick and checking my eyeliner isn't smudged. Appearance at Bliss is, sadly, everything.

Maria is dancing on the stage as I pass towards the private area of the club. She's twirling around her pole like she owns the room, bathed in red light, looking sinful. I stop as she brings one leg above her head, spinning all the while, before swinging down to the floor, swaying hips seductively as she removes her bra. Clients are eating it up, lust in their eyes and it's no wonder, she just oozes sex.

Pushing open the door of the first VIP room, I shake my hand a little to get rid of the numbness, looking down at the red mark slashed across my palm, wondering whether it will ever fade. As soon as I look up though, my stomach drops to my feet and I want to leave.

I almost do it, I almost turn and flee, but then the door closes with a soft thump behind me announcing my arrival, and it's too late.

Masen raises his head from the conversation, stopping dead. The look of surprise on his face mirroring my own. I see my name form on his lips, my eyes darting from him to Alec and Ben and for a second there's only silence and my heart in my mouth.

Slowly a smirk spreads on Alec's face as he takes a drag on a Cuban cigar and gives me a good once over.

"Well, well, well. Lookin' good, Doll," he drawls, lazily.

I swallow hard. Still as patronizing as ever. My eyes fly over them again all smartly dressed in crisp shirts and slacks. I can't meet Masen's gaze even though I feel it on every sliver of exposed skin.

"Thanks," I say cautiously stepping forward, still thrown. I move more into the room, clasping my hands in front of me. "Paul wanted me to look after you tonight but if this is a problem, I can swap with one of the other girls."

Please, please, _please _let me swap.

"Why would it be a problem? You'll do fine," Alec intones. "Paul was _real_ enthusiastic about you." He blows smoke upwards and I want to roll my eyes because Paul is full of it.

"I'm sure," I say, dryly.

He takes another puff on his cigar and glances at Masen. "Should've taken me up on my offer way back when, I'd have fixed you up with a similar gig ages ago."

"Wasn't so much an offer as a threat, if I remember right," I retort without missing a beat.

Alec snorts and then his Italian comes out, gesturing at me with a cigar laden hand. "_This fuckin' bitch_."

It takes a second, but I understand. You don't forget; I have a fleeting flash of Nonna jabbering away in the kitchen to me after school, always—always—Italian at home, her soaps on the cable channels more than making up for her lack of colorful language in front of me.

He doesn't know that I know though and I have no intention of letting him know I know, either.

Alec shifts in his seat, bringing his ankle to rest on his knee, taking another draw of his cigar. He points at me, attention on Masen.

"_Wasted effort there, huh? Persuading me not to make her work for me and she's gonna be doing just that soon enough_."

Masen has his head bowed, hands pressed together, rubbing his thumb over the back of his knuckles. He gives Alec a dark look but doesn't respond. Alec leans over and pats his face, looking for a reaction.

Masen shoves his hand away, twisting his head, angry.

"_Fuck off Alec, I swear to God-"_

"_You'll do what? You and this girl_," Alec shakes his head. "_You've gone all out for her and you haven't even fucked her. Maybe I'll get behind that for you, fuckin' pussy._"

Ben snickers. Masen mutters something unintelligible. My head spins, words on the tip of my tongue as Alec looks back up at me, eyes trailing slowly, he takes another drag in his cigar and smirks.

"Touché, Doll."

I hope I look like I don't understand a word but my mind is still reeling. Masen stopped him from forcing me to work for him? He went all out? What does that even mean?

I look between the three of them, my confidence shattering.

"Right, well." I smile but it's tight. "Have you been here before?"

Alec replies in the negative.

Usually my favourite type of customer, the new ones, always so eager to tip, but I know Alec is going to be playing games tonight, he's just that type.

"Well, let me get you some drinks for starters and then we'll lay out some ground rules, so we're all on the same page here."

I hand out some drinks menus from the bar behind me. These private rooms cost way more than a thirty-minute lap dance in the curtained booths. Bliss caters to the rich and their privacy. I'm not stupid either, I hear about some of the debauched shit going on here and there, but I keep my head down. Turn a blind eye. I need this job to keep the creditors at bay. And it does that. Just.

"If you want any recommendations, I'm happy to help, just let me know. I have a bachelor party on the main floor but if you need me at any time, just use this." I put a small pager on the table.

"Drop them," Alec says dismissively. "I want your full attention on this room tonight."

It already is, I think sourly.

"That should be fine," I say with a little uncertainty. "Let me run it past Paul and I'll be back with you."

...

He follows me. I can feel his presence behind me as soon as I leave the room, ignoring the jibes from Ben and Alec that follow him, hairs on the back of my neck standing up until we're out into the corridor. Hand pressed against the wall by my head.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing?" he breathes, dark eyes flashing, searching mine, darting down to my chest, my mouth, so close it sends me right back to that night.

Irritation flares. He had freakin' months to show up, to text or call, and explain and he's done _none _of it. And now he's got the balls to question me on what _I'm_ doing?

I ignore how devastatingly handsome he is and the fact the last time I saw him he had me pressed up against a door kissing all sense out of me and measure out my words.

"What am I doing? I'm workin', like I've done almost every night for the last three months," I pause. "Now if you don't mind, I've got other people that _want_ my attention that I have to _let down_."

I duck under his arm.

"Bella-" his hand finds mine and I shake it off, angry as hell.

"Touch me again and you're out. I don't care who you are or who you're with."

"Bella-"

I stalk off without a backward glance.

Fuck him.

...

Lauren gives me a withering glare when I ask her whether she can take over my bachelor party.

"Have you even cleared this with Paul?" she says with a hand on her teeny tiny waist, her slick pink lips pulled into a scowl.

"Cleared what with me?" Paul says, towel flung over his shoulder as he pulls pints behind the bar.

"VIP want me to themselves... I really need to hand over my bachelor party on the main floor to someone," I tell him.

He nods. "Done. Lauren, you're up, OK?"

"I'm already looking after two groups, I'm rushed off my feet," she moans, eyes pleading with Paul.

"Sorry," I say, feeling bad. "It was their request, not mine. Trust me, I'd rather swap with you."

Paul gives me a funny look but tells Lauren she'll have to cope. She flips him off when his back is turned and I mouth sorry to her again, feeling guilty.

...

I have to give myself a mental shakedown before I go back into their room, in the low-lit corridor, taking a deep breath, trying to compose myself. I've gotten through worse, I remind myself. It's just deeply uncomfortable, awkward, ground-swallow-me-whole, awful.

And Alec is looking at buying this place? Hell, no.

"All good?" Alec asks as soon as I'm back in the room.

"Of course," I tell him. "Have you decided on what you're drinking?"

Alec wants champagne, the two hundred dollar bottle stuff. Ben is much more low key, with draft beer and Masen... Masen wants whiskey.

"Eagle Rare," he says his voice clipped, flinging the menu carelessly back on the low table in front of them. A seventeen-year-old bourbon at over a hundred dollars a bottle and he doesn't look happy about it in the slightest.

When I finally set down the whiskey for Masen, pouring a couple of fingers, neat as requested, he knocks it back straight away, and then another, slamming the tumbler onto the table. I startle, but he doesn't meet my eyes at all.

He was the one who didn't call me.

I don't understand his attitude.

He has no right. He obviously didn't intend on seeing me again and now he has, he's pissed off? It makes me grit my teeth, annoyed.

I'm actually glad when Paul sweeps into the room half an hour later; looking smart in a suit jacket with a large binder in his hand.

"Gentleman," he says, skirting around me, hand grazing my waist, fingers wrapping around flesh, lingering. I stiffen, he's much too close, and his cologne is too musky, and I really want to tell him to take it down a notch. He ignores the look I shoot at him as he smiles down at me before stepping forward to shake hands, introductions being made.

Masen is noticeably cooler with Paul than Alec and Ben. He sits back on the bench, jaw working over, tense as Paul seats himself next to Alec, pulling at his trouser knees.

"Bella, could you get me a scotch please, babe? My usual."

"Sure."

They start discussing something about business rates, weekly turnover, margins... blah, blah, blah. A lot of it goes over my head and they go on forever and a day.

"You gonna dance for us, Doll?" Alec suddenly asks, much, much later, my mind numb from business talk. "I'll pay you big for that."

Masen flexes his hands next to Alec.

I hand Paul another scotch and smile. "No. I don't dance."

Paul looks up at me and smirks, hand snaking around my waist again. "Now that ain't true, is it?" he says raising an eyebrow. My face flushes hot. "She's too shy, but she practices before we open with one of my other girls on the pole, I've been begging her for weeks to get on that stage but she ain't having it… yet. I'll wear her down, eventually." He winks at me.

I get the impression he's not just talking about dancing.

Masen drains his tumbler.

"I'm not shy, PauI, I don't _want_ to. There's a difference," I say sweetly, stepping out of his grip, walking round to Masen, filling his glass with a measure, leaning over. His eyes are on my face, Ben's are on my tits.

Paul sighs. "Sass on you. You'd make a killing for me, but what can ya do?"

"You find a weakness and you exploit it," Alec says, casually, reaching into the inside of his suit jacket pocket. He pulls out a money clip, a wad of rolled cash. "Money usually talks."

He places a stack of bills in front of me on the table and taps it with two fingers.

"I'll give you five hundred dollars if you give Masen the lapdance of his life. Been a moody fucker for too long. He'll break you in. Gently," he says, gesturing to Masen.

Ben sniggers as Masen shifts in his seat before leaning back, gazing at me, his face unreadable.

"No."

"No?"

It's like Alec doesn't understand the word.

"No. I know you think money can buy you whatever you want, but sometimes it just doesn't."

"Bella, remember what I said earlier," Paul interjects something like a warning in his voice.

"I remember, Paul, and the answer is still no."

Alec leans back. "I'll double it."

"Still no."

"Huh. Full of surprises, ain't you."

I smile because Masen has said the exact same. I wonder whether he remembers. "So I've been told."

Paul clears his throat.

"Go get me that other bottle of scotch I like from my office, babe, and get some of the girls in here then. Time to let loose, right fellas?" He loosens his tie and passes off his glass to me again.

"Any preferences with your girls?" I ask. It's a standard question, there's no point bringing in girls who aren't to the clients' tastes, but it pains me to ask.

"I ain't fussy, just love me some tits and ass," Ben announces, face red.

"Blonde, stacked, slutty," Alec says, draining his flute.

I look at Masen kind of dreading his response.

He throws a packet of Marlboro down on the table, lighting a cigarette, before finally meeting my eyes as he breathes in.

"Brunette."

And I kind of want to punch him.

...

I book them in with Maria, Zafrina, and reluctantly, Jess, sending them on their way after a hurried conversation with Maria about who exactly is in the room.

She can see I'm all over the place and offers me a rail of coke, but I shake my head no, instead pacing back and forth in the dressing room until I have to take myself outside for a cigarette, even though it's fucking freezing.

I'm so wound up, the cold doesn't touch me.

This whole night has gone to hell and I can't wait for it to be over.

Sam joins me, shrugging off his jacket, draping it around my shoulders.

"Hey, are you OK?" he asks, concerned, hand on my shoulder.

I huff. "Fine, just… tough night. It'll be OK. Thanks, for askin'."

"You're in with Alec De Luca tonight, right?"

Is De Luca his last name? I don't even know. I nod.

"Yeah."

"Those guys... his family," he shakes his head. "They run this motherfucking city. Heard he's hard to please."

Not the first time I've heard that, either.

"Seems like it." I toss my cigarette and pass his jacket back to him.

"Well, chin up. Only two and a half hours 'til close. Still waiting for the wrong fucker to step outta line."

"Don't think your trouble detector is workin'" I say, reaching up and tweaking his nose.

"Oi, don't play with the equipment. Besides, two and a half hours is plenty of time for everything to kick-off, you know that."

He winks and cracks his knuckles and I let out a genuine laugh.

"Alright, alright. Thanks for cheering me up, Sam."

...

I'm reluctant to return, the thought of Jess rubbing herself all over Masen kind of makes me feel like puking, but whatever. He's not mine. He never was. She's the brunette he requested and stunning to boot, even if she's a complete bitch.

Maria has draped herself over Alec already, him toying with straps of her barely there bra, whilst Zafrina lavishes attention on Ben, who looks in his element, cheeks red, hands grabby.

"Didn't realise you were acquainted," Paul says, as I fix him up with yet another drink from the bottle he requested.

Jess is dancing on the pole to some thundering bass line; she swings and swivels her hips, zoned in on Masen, like a moth to a flame, something like desperation in the way she's trying to get his attention, eyes flitting to Paul. I wonder whether she's trying to make him jealous. If she is, it isn't working.

Masen's not paying attention to Jess either. He's watching Paul and me because I can see him out of the corner of my eye as Paul's hand rests on my ass.

"Barely," I respond to Paul.

Masen can't stop himself.

"I wouldn't say that." A smile on his face but it doesn't meet his eyes. He leans back against the velvet seating, arms draped over the back, shirt tight on his chest and arms.

Jess descends, pressing herself up against him as she slots in between him and Ben, whispering in his ear. Her eyes moving between me and Paul and back to Masen.

"Through your ex?" Paul carries on, ignoring Masen. "We've just been talking about him."

I freeze up. Like an ice bucket of water being launched at me. Why the fuck are they talking about James, to Paul of all people?

I instinctually glance at Maria who's wide-eyed, then glaring at Paul.

"What about him?" I say, blankly, bravely, lump in my throat.

"You don't know, do you?" Alec muses, hand palming Maria's ass. There goes the no-touching rule. He looks at Masen and my eyes find his as he blows out smoke.

"Boy's in lock-up now," Ben chimes in, brightly, sheer glee on his face.

I open my mouth then close it again.

Jail.

James is in jail.

_James is in jail?_

Well, fuck.

I struggle to find words.

"I don't know what you want me to say," I respond eventually. "Not my problem? I don't care? Thank fuck? That sounds about right."

"End badly?" Paul queries, hand finding my arm, brushing his finger down it. I snatch it away, rapidly, suddenly feeling on edge, rattled.

I ignore his question pointedly, filling up Alec's champagne, fetching Ben another beer.

Just as Jess swings her leg over Masen and straddles him, toying with the buttons on his shirt, flexing her hips into his, I excuse myself, feeling like I could either explode or cry.

When I come back from throwing a couple of valium down my throat, Masen isn't there.

...

Maria and I make our way out with the other girls just after five a.m. The bouncers usually walk us to our cars, make sure we get off OK. There's been some horror stories recently of clients following girls home- not at Bliss, but some of the other strip clubs in the city. Most of us carpool for safety.

He's waiting though, leaning against the wall opposite the club, smoking. I see him. He sees me see him. And I carry on walking.

"Bella," he says following as we start walking to Maria's car. I sigh and turn flatly.

"What?"

"Can we- can we talk?"

"Y'know, it's not really a good time. It's been a really long night, I'm tired, my ride is waiting… And I don't really have anything to say."

Maria's carried on walking, pausing when she reaches Sam, and then Sam is walking back over to me, still itching for a fight, no doubt.

"There a problem here?" he says joining us. He's sizing Masen up but Masen raises his hands like he wants no trouble.

"It's fine, Sam, thanks. I know him."

Sam nods leaning into Masen's face. "I'm watching you. You mess with her, I will fuck you up, I don't care who you work for." He bumps his shoulder as he walks off slowly.

"Go on then," I say impatiently. "Talk."

He runs a hand through his hair, frustratedly. "I think about you all the time," he says eventually, when he's been silent for too long and I've decided to walk away. He's slurring his words, eyes finding it hard to concentrate on my face.

"Not enough to call, obviously," I bite, shivering as the freezing night air starts to set in on my skin.

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, hands in his pockets, looking at the ground. He goes to speak but I raise my hand.

"Look, it's OK. It was a few kisses after a really intense night. I'll always be grateful to you for what you did, but let's just- just not do _this_."

"Bella—c'mon," he says, stepping closer. I can smell the whiskey on his breath. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I fucked up. Lemme-"

He doesn't finish, his fingers touching my face, my tummy twisting.

"Go home, Masen. You're drunk." I stare up into his bleary eyes and he stares right back, caressing my cheek with the pad of his thumb. "You'll feel stupid about this in the morning."

"No."

"I really don't know what you want from me," I say, looking away from him out at the street, the odd car rolling by. "I've put everythin' behind me." I look back at him, his expression agitated.

"B, let's go!" Maria shouts before Masen can reply. "Freezin' my fuckin' tits off right now."

"Look, I gotta go. Do you need a ride or a cab or something?" He shakes his head looking up, a light dusting of snow beginning to fall.

"I'm alright."

"Well, see you. Or not."

I walk away, Maria frowning at me, at Masen.

"What was that about?"

"I don't know."

She looks back over her shoulder and I do too. He's still standing on the sidewalk, swaying slightly and even though he's wasted he's so attractive it makes my heart squeeze in my chest.

"Bella. I should've called… That night. You. I think about it all the time. All the fuckin' time."

His voice carries in the quiet of the night, Jess and Emily turning from in front of us to stare.

I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything. Turning my back on him, carrying on walking, Maria wrapping her arm around me until we get to the car.

"I fucked Alec," she says after the doors on her car close, removing me from my drama and throwing me straight into hers.

"_What_?"


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

We ride in silence for all of two minutes before I just can't take it anymore.

"Why would you _do _that? Why would you? _Alec_? What the fuck are you thinking? What about Petey?!"

"He's cheatin' on me," Maria sniffs, fiddling with the heater, turning it on full blast. My anger lulls, but only fractionally.

"What? What the hell are you talking about?"

A lone tear rolls its way down her cheek and she wipes it away hastily with the back of a glittery silver nail.

"I found rubbers in his wallet. He don't wrap that shit with me. Why else would he have them, if he weren't fuckin' some other bitch? And then—then he was in the shower, earlier and I—I decided to check his cell—y'know…" She trails off, a choked sob escaping and my heart sinks with the realisation she's being serious.

"I just had this feelin' in my gut cos he's been actin' funny. And I was fuckin' right! Messages between the two of them! So fuck him, I got bigger fish in my sights."

"Shit. Maria—that's, that's—it doesn't even make sense!" I'm shaking my head. She doesn't respond, wiping furiously at her eyes as she drives.

Petey cheating on her? He doesn't seem the type. He's a good guy. He's always been a good guy. Now he's cheating? I can't quite wrap my head around it, not sure how much more twisted this night can get.

I stare out the window into the dark; snow falling thicker and faster the closer we get to home.

"But _Alec_?" I say incredulously, coming back to the first point, voicing my disbelief out loud. "Seriously?"

Maria smiles through watery eyes and looks across at me.

"Hung like a horse."

"Oh my God! I don't need to know that shit," I moan, hand to my face, screwing it up in distaste.

…

I find it hard to fall asleep when we finally get in. I can hear Maria crying, so I creep down the hallway into her room, crawling over to her so we're spooning, wrapping her up in my arms until her sobs turn to sniffles; because despite everything Petey cheating on her has gotta hurt.

She turns toward me, so we're almost nose to nose, eyes red-rimmed, even in the gloom of the early hours.

I snuggle my head into her pillow, finding her hand, clasping it with mine and for a while we lie there.

"It just hurts," she tells me, voice wavering. "I've made mistakes, I've owned them and we said- we said- we'd put all that shit behind us. Move forward, y'know? I just don't get why he'd do it now… revenge or some shit?"

I stroke her hair, hesitant. "I dunno. It makes no sense. Are you sure… are you sure you're not just takin' things the wrong way? Maybe?"

She shakes her head. "B, literally it's there on his cell. Him sayin' he can't wait to be inside her. It don't get more clear cut, other than me walkin' in on him balls deep."

I squeeze her hand tighter.

"Are you OK, B? After tonight?" she asks after a while, rubbing at her nose.

"Did you know about James?" I respond, tentatively.

She shakes her head, covers rustling with the movement.

"Not before tonight, babe. Shocker. Who would've thought, right? Fuckin' dickhead finally gettin' what he deserves."

I hum. I don't know what to think, really. I mean, why is he even locked up right now? What did he do?

"Maybe it'll help with the nightmares. Knowin' he ain't out there?" Maria carries on.

"Maybe."

And then there's Masen. I think about what he said, over and over, until Maria is fast asleep next to me, her breathing even and shallow.

Slipping away into my room, I toss and turn, unable to switch off, watching snow drift in the pale morning light against the window, tracing the bobbled Artex swirls on the ceiling with my eyes.

His reaction to me, his attitude the entire night leave a whole heap of questions. Did he mean what he said? Did he really stop Alec from forcing me to work at that other place? What did Alec mean by 'all out'?

I can't ask about the last two, because I'm not supposed to have understood what was said… but the first.

I grab my cell from the rickety side table, scrolling to his number.

It takes me three attempts to actually send a message, indecision wrecking me. Tapping it out one more time, I press send before I can back out, my heart hammering against my chest. I've got nothing to lose.

_Why didnt u then?_

…

Startling awake sometime around three in the afternoon my bedsheets stick uncomfortably to my face, a cold sweat on my skin, even though the air is nippy from the freezing cold weather.

Feeling unsettled, I blink trying to remember why. And then I wish I hadn't. My heart sinks into my feet as I pull the covers tighter around myself, reaching for my cell.

_2 messages_

My thumb and fingers suddenly feel weak as they move over the keys.

They're both from Masen. Sent not long after I text, maybe ten minutes or so.

_Cos Im a fckn idiot_

_I want 2 see u_

My chest aches unexpectedly, a deep urge for fleeting moments of something I thought we might've had before.

Do I want to see him?

My bottom lip is between my teeth. I'd hoped he'd call, for weeks, and he didn't. So I got on with things and I'm doing fine, everything considered. I don't _need_ to see him.

But there's always been some part of me that wants to say yes to him. I still felt it last night, I'd be lying if I said I didn't, that pulse of attraction. Maybe I do, even if it's to chew him out.

_Last night_.

It all comes flooding back, like reflux; impossible to stop and acidic. Eating away at me until I fling the covers off and stumble into the kitchen, one thought, in particular, pressing on my mind.

Cracking open Maria's old Toshiba laptop, I Google James' name because I can't not know _why_. No one said why. Why was he arrested? What did he get charged with? I've tried desperately hard not to think about him in months, nightmares aside, and all it takes is one night to throw me back into a tailspin.

There's no harm in knowing, I figure. Maybe it'll help, even, like Maria said.

His mugshot stares up at me as I click on a _Chicago Tribune_ news article. He looks ill, but not sick; just jacked up, eyes glassy, pupils blown. Thinner, more unkempt than I've ever seen him before.

They arrested him, alongside Marcus, with seventy-five thousand dollars worth of cocaine in his car. Marcus was driving and they're both looking at time. A massive amount of time on felony drug trafficking charges.

I slam the laptop shut. Taking a minute for it to digest. Overwhelmingly, I feel relieved. Locked away he can't touch me, but something isn't sitting quite right.

James was always low-level. He sold, for sure. He distributed to a point, but trafficking? That suggests he was bringing stuff in from elsewhere and I don't think he was that deep. But what do I know? He did a lot of shit I didn't know about.

I text Charlotte, asking her about it. She would've told me if she'd known. I'd like to think so, anyway.

Another long night of work beckons so I get up and showered. I can't hear any movement from Maria's room as I pad out the bathroom, so I dry my hair and throw on ratty sweats for yoga, going through the asana sun salutations without her.

I didn't really get yoga before, but it isn't at all hokey like Charlotte keeps saying, plus the extra flexibility helps with learning moves for when I'm practising pole. I actually like that too, it can be really fun, learning new moves and putting together combinations; even if it makes my muscles ache and my hands burn. I don't care what anyone says; I have a new respect for anyone who can hold and invert their own body weight on a piece of metal.

I check my cell once I've finished stretching out all the tension. Charlotte hasn't replied yet which is unusual. Her and her phone are inseparable. I vaguely wonder if there's a new guy on the scene she's yet to tell me about; because that's the only logical explanation I can think of right now.

I sit and stare at Masen's texts instead.

_Cos Im a fckn idiot_

_I want 2 see u_

Maybe I do want to see him.

He can wait though.

I figure I have.

…

Work is hectic, Lauren still bitching about me dropping her in it last night, so I pick up the slack for her, even though I'm sure she made a heap of extra tips out of it. I'm actually relieved about being so rushed off my feet with clients because it means I can avoid Paul, who's been trying to get my attention at every lull. I just can't be dealing with him tonight.

It's Jess that manages to corner me in the dressing room, by my locker, just when I'm about to brave the snow for a cigarette.

"What is it about you?" she says, tossing long brown hair over her shoulder. She's leaning against the lockers, her arms crossed under a quarter cup bra, her nipples spilling out.

"What is it about me what?" I say turning to her, slamming the door closed. She's eyeing me with dislike. Bristling with it, actually.

"That's got all these guys trippin'. Got a golden snatch or somethin'? Cus you're not anything special really, are you?"

"I don't know what you're on about, Jess," I tell her, pulling on my coat, fishing out my hair from the back of it.

"That guy from last night—I offered to blow him and he straight up turned me down." She's sneering, a trace of bitterness in the way her lip curls up. "And Paul. He's been sniffin' around you ever since you started."

"I don't like Paul like that, it ain't my fault he dropped you after one hot minute. Take it up with him, not out on me."

Zafrina appears at my side, twirling an eyebrow pencil in her fingers. She jabs it at Jess. "Maybe guys like Bella cus she ain't no dollar store hoe. Paul know you're offering extras on the regular?"

"Well, not all of us can be frigid bitches." She mocks my reaction to Paul touching my arm last night and I feel mortified she's picked up on that. "Your ex in the slammer too," she taunts. "Thought you were gonna cry like a little bitch. He your first or somethin'?"

I shake my head. She's so, so far off the mark. Instead of engaging with her I decide to be the bigger person and just walk away, not trusting my clenched fists.

Zafrina joins me outside in the back alley for a smoke, leaning up against the wall beside me as she sparks up, sheltered in an area where the snow hasn't managed to touch.

"Just ignore her," she says, smoothing silky straight black hair. "Jess is all bark and no bite, y'know?"

"I dunno about that."

"Look, I got your back, hun and I know you got mine where she's concerned," she pauses inhaling deeply. "Paul was bang out of order draggin' up personal shit in front of clients though. Didn't take a blind man to see he shoulda just shut the fuck up."

She takes a couple more deep drags before stubbing her half-smoked cigarette out on the wall, leaving black marks on the brick. "Tryin' to quit," she replies when she sees my face.

"Good for you," I tell her, genuinely.

Just before she opens the door to go back inside a thought strikes me.

"Hey, Zaf, what do you know about Fever?"

She pauses and turns to me, heel holding the door open. "Fever? Girl, you don't wanna touch that place. Less strip club, more brothel."

My blood runs cold.

"Are you serious?"

"Mhmm. That place - from what I know, the girls are up for anything... just promise you ain't even entertainin' that."

I shake my head. "I promise."

She smiles, satisfied, the door slamming behind her.

My head finds the wall as I stare up into the night sky, bringing my cigarette to my lips with a trembling hand, things clicking into place, making sense, now. Where Alec wanted me to work, what he wanted me to do to work off James' debt.

And Masen stopped it.

_Fuck_.

...

We flood out into the street down the steps in the early hours of Sunday, another shift done. I'm talking to Sam when someone bumps into me especially hard, making me lose my footing.

Grabbing me before I stack it down the steps, Sam yanks me up by my arm. I don't even have to look to know it was Jess. Emily and her burst into laughter as they shove past, heat spreading on my cheeks, embarrassed.

"You alright?" Sam says as I straighten my coat out.

"Think so. Thanks, Sam."

"Coulda been nasty," Sam tells me, glancing at Jess and Emily who've stopped at the bottom to spark up, flipping their hair as they look over the street, pouting and giggling. "She's just jealous. Real piece of work when she wants to be."

"I gathered." I look up at the steady stream of snowflakes catching in the neon glow from the Bliss sign, above us and then down to the street, Jess and Emily's behavior suddenly making sense.

He's stood against his Mustang, wrapped up all in black; coat, boots, jeans, hat, just the edges of his hair curling up under it, dusted with snow. He's smoking, blowing it out through his nose, looking fine as hell.

What is he doing here?

My heart betrays me, beating faster, his eyes scanning until he finds mine and I _know_ then that he's here for me. It does all kinds of things to my insides when it really, _really _shouldn't.

Sam looks to where I'm focused. "He botherin' you? What's his deal?"

"He helped me out a few months ago," I admit, remaining vague.

"Huh," he says. "Well, you let me know if he's oversteppin'."

I shake my head. "He's not like that. Went out his way. He's decent."

"No one decent works for who he does."

I frown. I don't feel like Masen deserves Sam's low opinion. If he knew what he did for me, he'd probably be fist-bumping him. Thanking him. Maybe I should be thanking him too.

Masen starts walking over as Maria makes her way down to my side in a fluffy beige coat. I can feel it tickle my neck as she stands beside me.

"You should see what he's gotta say," she urges, lips at my ear.

I tear my eyes away from Masen and give her a look.

"What? You like him, right?"

"Yeah, _before_," I admit.

"Same difference. Take a leap, B, you deserve something good and I think—well, you should've seen the way he dumped Jess on her ass after you left last night..."

She glances at Jess who is eyeing Masen hopefully, her expression faltering as he ignores her. Maria smirks. "I won't wait up. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." She sing-songs the last part, winking as she nudges me down the steps before I can protest; what about her? All the shit going on with Petey?

Masen stops short, offering his hand out to me, like all those months ago. Apprehension gnawing, I try to brush it off, reaching out. His hand is freezing and I have to wonder how long he's been standing out here waiting. As soon as I'm on the sidewalk I take my hand back, folding my arms around myself, pivoting my heel in the snow, taking him in.

He looks tired like he hasn't had a good night's sleep, which makes two of us, I guess, and if last night was anything to go by, he'll be hungover as fuck.

"What are you doing?" I say at last, mimicking him from last night, unable to help myself. I search his face for answers I'm not sure I'll get.

"Doing what I should've done fuckin' months ago," he says, voice hoarse, stepping forward, closer. "Going after what I want."

"Masen…"

I'm mad at him for not calling, for saying he'd do something and then just not. For only being here now because of what? Because he saw me accidentally yesterday? Would we even be here right now if he hadn't? The answer, I'm pretty sure, is no.

Tension rolls off him in waves. I look around, chewing on my lip, chapped from the cold weather.

"Are you seein' him?" he nods his head behind me. I turn and look to where his attention is; Paul talking to Sam and Maria, glancing down at us, annoyance on his face.

I turn back and shake my head, breathing out a "No." Then, "He's asked but…"

"I wasn't sure, after last night." He pauses. "You got every right to tell me to fuck off right now. I'm way outta line here, I know."

He steps closer, so close we're practically touching. "I'm sorry for last night. I'm sorry for not callin' you like I said," he says, sincerely, regretful. "I fucked up."

I can't not agree with that so I just say, "Yeah." Afraid to say anymore.

He hangs his head down, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Breakfast?"

"It's five in the morning."

"Bella, please." His hand comes out again, his pinky brushing mine, a flutter in my stomach, my traitorous heart skipping.

The wind blows bitterly cold, biting at my bare legs, hands, and toes. Snow hitting my face sideways, making me grimace.

I sigh.

"Fine," I tell him with a small nod.

We walk over to his car and he opens the passenger side door of his car for me, wordless, before he comes around the other side, sliding into his seat. I can't stop fidgeting, nervous, staring straight ahead, wondering what I've let myself in for by agreeing to this.

Taking off his hat, he ruffles his hair; snow melting as it falls on his seat and jeans. He starts the engine up, letting it run, making sure the heating is on and blowing my way, keeping the freezing air from sinking into my bones.

He drives us to his apartment and I realize it's not actually that far. All these months and we've been so close.

Annoyance creeps in; at myself for my lack of willpower, his gall for questioning me on my relationship with Paul, and by the time we're through the door of his apartment, I'm unbuttoning my coat with shaky hands, anger burning.

I drape my coat on the sofa, pulling out cigarettes and a lighter, looking around.

Not much has changed.

"Do you mind?" I ask him before I spark up. He shakes his head, eyes drifting down my body. Pink fitted silk-like dress, low cut on my tits, tight on my waist. His attention makes me feel sexy—desirable.

I ignore that though.

"Would we even be here right now if you hadn't seen me last night?" I ask aloud, shaking my lighter as it's close to out, rolling the metal a couple of times to get a spark before inhaling as he takes off his coat.

"I don't know."

"You know it'd be 'no'. You can't just turn up after months of silence, sayin' shit like 'you think about me all the time', cus that's bullshit. If you—"

"I fucked up. I told you. I fucked up, Bella. I'm fuckin' shit at—at this."

I explode. Hot flashes of anger surging through me. "Shit at what? Picking up your cell? Quick enough to answer it at any other time, right? So why _now_?"

He combs a hand through his hair, scratching the back of his neck. He can't look at me, his lips parted like he wants to say something but there's just silence that lingers like a chasm between us.

"I should-this was a mistake." My voice is small and I feel deflated that even now he's not saying anything.

I don't understand.

"You _deserved_ better. You deserve better," he says finally, as I reach for my coat. I stop, listening. "I was outta state for a couple of months after that night and I don't ever want you to be exposed to the shit I was dealin' with. I'm not a good person, Bella. Not even fuckin' close." Bitterness and self-loathing seep out with every word.

"I'm not fuckin' good enough for you. I knew it then. And I know it now."

My temper flares. "You don't know what I deserve," I scoff.

"You deserved space, after that night. Not me makin' a move. Tell me I'm wrong? Tell me it wasn't too soon? And you - you deserve to be happy, with someone who has a normal fuckin' life and a normal fuckin' job. Y'know, like _Paul_. I thought you'd have a better chance of that if I just left you alone."

I'm shaking my head disbelieving.

"Is that what you think? I'm incapable of choice? I don't need any more assholes tellin' me what the fuck _I_ want or _I_ need, thanks. I had years of that shit. The only thing Paul is capable of givin' me is the fuckin' clap. Jesus."

His words ring in my ears. I laugh a little.

"And you're assuming I was in it for more than a casual fuck. Maybe it would've been too soon, but y'know what? I've made way worse decisions in my life. Any time I've spent with you hasn't really been one of them. Despite everything."

He's silent and I daren't look at him, concentrating on taking drags of my cigarette too quickly, one after another, my head getting lighter.

"Why now?" I ask again. "Nothings changed, right? You saw me last night and… What? You changed your mind, you're suddenly good enough now? I thought you didn't want anythin' to do with me," I say inhaling deeply, letting the smoke burn.

He brings a finger up to my chin, lifting my face to look at him.

"That's not true," he tells me shaking his head. "This is… seeing you again it's like… fate, or some shit. I should've called. You don't know how many times I almost did. And now... Whatever you're willing to give me, I want it, Bella. And if it's nothin' then—then I get it. I don't deserve it. But I meant what I said last night."

His eyes don't leave mine.

"I want you."

I look away, but he finds me again ducking his head. "I want you," he repeats, everything about him so intense he makes my insides pang.

I can't tear my eyes away from his, this time.

He stares at me hard-faced, eyes darting around my face, flickering down to my lips. Then he's leaning in, covering my mouth with his, kissing me fiercely, hot and heavy, hands cupping my face.

Heat blooms, all over. The familiar, but unfamiliar, pulling and tugging in my heart and head and belly. His eyes are dark when he slows down, nipping at kiss hungry, kiss swollen lips, forehead flush with mine, fingers digging tight into my hips. I tremor under his touch.

"What do you want?"

What do I want? Right now?

My eyes snap open and I'm not sure what makes me do it, all sense of rationality gone.

I lift up on my toes, fisting the soft cotton of his black t-shirt, crashing my lips into his.

Tongues, teeth, frustration; all-consuming like before. He trails fingertip touches all the way down my spine, pushing me closer to him, letting me feel how much he wants me.

I break it off, hand to his chest, pushing him back gently, lips still almost touching. He's breathing hard, brushing his nose against mine, eyes questioning. Am I sure? Do I want this? My body betrays me, my heart too.

This wasn't supposed to go like this.

"Not off the hook," I tell him before my mouth finds his again, feverish and lustful.

We're a mess of hands and tongues, want and need. I find the hem of his t-shirt and it's off before I can blink, cast to the side, an expanse of sinewy muscles rippling as he walks me backwards, into his room.

He tosses his cell away, growling in frustration when the zipper of my dress gets stuck, yanking it so hard I hear a rip of fabric. It pools around my feet and I'm naked except for a tiny nude thong. His eyes devour and I blush, slightly unsure, nervous. I don't think I've been this naked in front of anyone except James in years.

"You are…" he shakes his head, dark hair falling across his eyes as he pulls me towards him, hands warm on the backs of my thighs. "Fuckin'. Insane."

I lower my mouth to his, feeling brave, as he tugs me to straddle him, hands squeezing my ass. A low groan. His erection pressing into me. I grind down, shamelessly, friction feeling so good.

He flips me over, so I'm pressed against cool dark sheets, hovering over me, kissing me deeper, hand travelling the length of one side, touch blazing on my skin until his fingers are stroking the inside of my thigh. I pout as he teases, fingers swiping closer and closer to where I want them to touch until I'm so worked up that a desperate "Please," escapes my mouth into his. He trails his mouth down my neck, sucking, licking, kissing between my breasts, my stomach, right down, a devilish gleam in his eyes as he pulls me with him so I'm on the edge of the bed.

Hands slide up until they find my panties and slowly he edges them down my legs, so I'm bare and exposed.

_Thank fuck for waxing._

He doesn't mess around, pushing my legs up, his mouth and tongue giving a tentative lick before he buries his face in my pussy, hand sliding up to grip mine.

"Oh God," I whimper.

"I'm gonna make you feel so good," he tells me as he draws his hand back, adding in a finger and then another, curling them deep, finding the spot that makes me quiver, licking and sucking until I come, hand tangled in his hair.

He kisses the insides of my legs before moving upward, clamping his mouth around a nipple before I scoot further up the bed. He chases me, kissing me and I can taste myself on him, feel the wetness he brings back up on his stubble.

I reach for him, finding him hard and solid, long and thick. Not too big, just fucking right, and suddenly I can't wait. I want him. I need him now. He seems to be thinking the same as he frees himself, reaching over to the nightstand, opening a drawer, grabbing a condom. He tears it open, kicks off his boxers, rolling it on.

"You sure?" he asks me, as I pant 'yes,' legs already hooking round him to draw him closer.

He doesn't need to be told again. He watches my face when he pushes in roughly, swearing as I moan, arching up to meet him, take him, stretching for every inch and it feels so fuckin' good.

"Fuck, Bella," he groans, stilling. "You're so fuckin' tight. Shit."

I rock against him, seeking friction, movement. "Masen…" I plead. He moves. And it's the best kind of movement; hard and rough and hot. He knows how to do this, his experience showing and I'm OK with that. He learns quickly what makes me moan louder, hooking my legs around his arms so my knees are near my shoulders, hitting deeper, angling himself so he can watch himself sliding in and out, his pace slowing until I'm gasping for more. Then he's hitting that spot and I'm the one cursing, gone, nails digging into him, bliss curling low, right on the edge.

I'm incoherent as he speeds up; harder, faster, tension low in my belly burning until I'm clenching around him, gripping his shoulders.

He whispers words against my skin; how hot I am coming on his cock, how hard I make him, how he wants to fill me. And he does, not long after, his body jerking as he releases, a low guttural groan from his mouth.

"Fuck."

His come face might be my new favorite thing.

His eyes open and he kisses me sweet and soft, as I brush sweaty hair off his forehead feeling blissed. I return his smile lazily, legs shaky, nudging him until he moves out of me.

Skin on skin he wraps me up in his arms, offering me a cigarette. I take one but I'm already replaying his tongue lapping at me, the look on his face when he slid inside, the feel of his hands on my body… I have my doubts, but fuck if this doesn't change everything.

"Off the hook?" he asks, blowing smoke upwards.

"If you do that again, there might be a _tiny _possibility," I murmur, his heartbeat slow and steady against my ear, as he puts the filter to my lips, running a finger lightly down my arm.

"What bit?"

I look at him, a hunger there. An ache for more.

"All of it."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

"No, Masen! No! I can't. I'm too freakin' sore! This is like a recipe for a UTI." I'm laughing as he mumbles filth in my ear, fingers toying with sensitive skin as I squirm into his crotch, landing myself an erection pressing into my ass instead.

We haven't left his apartment since he drove us here in the early hours of Sunday morning. It's now Tuesday afternoon, wintery sunlight pale on sheets and skin as darkness starts creeping in. I lucked out with the schedule this week that afforded me tonight off but tomorrow I have to work and I don't think I ever want this bubble to burst.

I can't count the ways he's fucked me because I've lost count, but my legs are aching, bruises to my inner thighs, and I'm so tender I'd actually be glad not to see his dick again for at least a couple of days.

"I'll go slow."

I scowl.

"How can you want it again, I thought your sex drive was supposed to die after thirty?"

"Well, either that says somethin' 'bout you… or somethin' 'bout me." He's smiling at me smugly, eyes crinkled. "Either way…"

"You've ruined me."

"Too fuckin' right," he nips at my neck, hand coming to rest on my waist. We're in his bed, TV on some film neither of us are watching.

When we finally talked, properly, it was … hard. I cried and he begged for a chance to make it right. I was stubborn and he was sorry. He tried to explain and I told him not even texting was a dick move. Then I reluctantly agreed that I did need time. I did need space, that he was right about that.

I needed to see who I was- who I am - without James. I could never have done that if I'd leapt into something with him. He'd have been a crutch when I needed to learn to stand on my own two feet.

When he says he's not a good person though… I don't think it's black and white like he makes out and I told him that, too. He's the grey. He might do bad things but he's always been good to me.

Right now, though? I figure none of it matters; when we're together in the way we both want.

His fingers find the smooth spot of raised skin near my hip and I instantly tense. Peeling back his sheets so he can see, he circles the smallish round patch with the tip of a finger, before sitting upright, jerkily. I try to focus on the TV.

"Tell me this ain't what I think it is?"

I hide my face in my hands.

"Bella?" He gently prises my hands away from my face.

I huff and sit up, reaching across for his packet of Marlboro, covering the scar up with the sheets again, self-conscious. He was bound to notice at some point, I'm surprised it hadn't come up before now. He kisses my bare shoulder, stubble scratching as I bring the filter to my lips and take a sharp drag.

"It's probably exactly what you think it is." I bring my knees up to my chin, holding them with my arms.

"How?" he demands. "_When?_"

"I was four," I say blowing smoke up to the ceiling. "My, um, my Dad, he, um. He—" I swallow hard. "He killed my Mom. That's part of what he's doing time for. It wasn't just—it wasn't just, like, one bullet. He went all out. Stray one hit me through a door. I was lucky—door slowed it down, so it didn't do a lot of damage. I mean, I was so young… I don't—I don't remember it, anyway. Just what I was told."

"_Four_?" he rubs his face, almost disbelievingly. "That's—"

"Fucked? It ain't half of it."

"No?"

I shake my head. Sometimes, in moments like this, I wish I could talk to someone. Him, maybe.

"You can talk to me anytime," Masen says, like he's reading my mind. "If you don't feel like it now, that's cool. I ain't gonna push you."

I nod, even though I know that isn't ever going to happen. I've never told anyone everything.

Nonna was adamant about one thing; anything where people might start digging around is a huge red flag. Sometimes I wish _I_ hadn't gone digging around. Ignorance is bliss or so they say. Tell that to a hormonal teenage girl determined to find out the truth. Forced to have conversations with a Papà I never saw; on a phone. Once or twice a month.

And when I was old enough to understand that wasn't normal I started to question everything.

Where was he?

Why couldn't he visit?

What did he do?

Why do I speak Italian?

Why do I have to call him Papà at home and on the phone and Dad everywhere else?

I sigh, fiddling with the hair tie on my wrist, snapping it against my skin. Masen's watching me carefully, softness in his face.

"You've shot people," I say eventually, meeting his eyes. He runs a hand through messed up hair, wariness flitting across his face.

"You know I have."

"What's it like?"

"Bella..."

"I just wondered. Like, I read all my—my Dad's case when I was thirteen or fourteen. Curiosity, I guess. I mean, do you regret any? He didn't show remorse for what he did. He said it wasn't him. It was though. He even had my Grandma convinced he was innocent, she believed that until she died."

"Regret ain't the right word," Masen replies guarded by.

"I just... I know you have them. I'm just—I don't like them. I mean, I'm just wary, you know. Bad experiences."

"You're talkin' guns here?"

I nod yes. My Papà... James had held one to my head for something I can't even remember. Alec had pointed one at me… it all feels like I'm on borrowed time when weapons come into the mix. I try to explain this to Masen, but I don't do it very well, leaving him frowning.

He gets out of bed suddenly, stark naked, turning on a bedside lamp. I don't think I'll ever tire of looking at him, his skin almost tan in the soft light as he moves to his bathroom.

The sound of the shower filters through as he comes back out.

"Get up." He points to the bathroom.

I don't move, wide-eyed.

"What?"

"We're goin' out."

"Why? It's like the freakin' arctic out there, I'm fine right here."

He walks over to me when I make no attempt to move, scooping me up. "You'll see."

We shower together in his walk-in, there's space enough for us both but we still have to take turns for a decent stream of water. He slides suds over wet skin, cupping my tits, tweaking a nipple, as I arch against him, hands around his neck, trying to get a face full of water, instead finding teeth biting lightly in the dip between my neck and shoulder, his cock digging into my back.

I want to roll my eyes but the fact he can't get enough of me thrills me. I turn, finding his eyes closed as he washes the last of his shampoo out of his hair. I decide to repay him a favor; on my knees, taking him in my mouth.

"Bella," he rasps, a strangled noise in his throat, his eyes snapping open. I look up at him innocently, humming, tongue flat on the tip, hand moving to grip around his base, moving both together. He groans bracing hands against grey tiles, watching me with heavy eyes until I make him come all over my face, licking him after he finishes to try him out. Jizz ain't my favorite flavor that's for sure.

I smile, knees red, as I move him out the way so I can stand fully under the water and wash him off me. He stares at me, dazed.

"Your clothes are that way," I say, tilting my head back into the water, reaching for the shampoo, dismissing him nonchalantly, pleased with myself. He reaches for a towel, rubbing it over his hair and leaves me in peace, a grin on his face.

I only have my yoga leggings and a sports bra and the ripped pink dress from the other night, both completely impractical for the weather outside. Masen gives me a t-shirt, one of his hoodies and a beanie hat to try to keep the chill away. He tugs on my hair, telling me I'm cute in his stuff. I pull a face. I don't want to be cute.

...

Masen drives slower in the snow, gunning it when we're on cleared roads until eventually he pulls up around the back of a large single-story, red brick, warehouse-like building.

"C'mon," he beckons, taking my hand, walking us to a robust, black door, keying in a code on a fancy-looking access pad before it releases. There's a second door, much the same.

"Where are we?" I ask as we move down a narrow, grey corridor, automatic lights switching on and stinging my eyes as we go towards another black door at the end of the corridor. Loud bangs echo from behind it and I'm wide-eyed, dragging my feet.

Masen turns to me.

"You trust me?"

"Do I have a choice right now?"

His eyebrows draw together. "You always have a choice with me." His sincerity smacks me in the face because I didn't often have a choice before, with James. Masen rubs the back of my knuckles with his thumb.

"I own this place. It's a shootin' range. I figure you wanna know, so why don't you try?"

"You own—_What_? Try? Shooting a gun?"

My first reaction is to recoil. I've been uncomfortable around them for so long, even the idea makes me feel ill. It's why I pushed the one James tried to give me away all those months back. I mean, what was he thinking? I wouldn't have even known how to shoot it.

Ironic though, sort of. That one of the people he wanted me to be protected from was the one who ended up protecting me from him.

"The biggest headfuck is here," Masen says tapping his temple. "Shooting targets can be fun."

"Fun?" I echo the word dubiously.

"Maybe this is too much," he says, scratching his chin. "Maybe another time."

"No. I mean, really? You think this is a good idea?"

"Controlled environment. Can't hurt."

I stare at the grey breeze block wall behind him, thinking it over.

"OK," I say eventually.

He opens the door revealing a huge grey expanse of space in front of us, tracks at the top, targets in the distance of each booth, the people shooting guns with their backs to us, ear and eye protectors on.

I wince at the noise but he pulls on my hand, making me walk with him towards the front, around the corner to a counter where a big burly guy with tattoos is busy signing in a couple of guys around my age, chatting and laughing like this is no big deal.

Counter-guy looks towards us as Masen approaches, a grin spreading on his face. They do a weird fist bump thing.

"Long time no see, bro. What's the occasion?" His eyes slide to me and he quirks an eyebrow up. "Who's this?"

"This is Bella. Bella, Emmett. He's the one who runs this place for me."

Emmett sticks a large hand out, shaking mine when I reach out, his grip firm.

"So, boss man wants to show you the ropes, personally, huh?"

His eyes dart between us and there's a sly smile on his face. I laugh nervously, running a hand through my hair.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Well, we still have to sign you in, boss' guest or not."

He hands me over a pen and slides over a form; a waiver. They need ID too, so I pull out my driver's license, a much younger me staring back, taken a few weeks after we came to Chicago. James had allowed that, at least. I look like shit in it; tired, too thin. My weight hovering at a hundred pounds on a five-five frame, grieving for Nonna, living hand-to-mouth.

"Congrats. You're not a felon," Emmett says, sliding my ID back to me. Masen takes it up in his hands, studying it.

"Swan, huh? You suit that." He hands it back to me. "Get her the Glock 17. Start you off with somethin' light."

Emmett disappears with a, "Sure thing."

"What if I, like, hit someone," I say nervously, stuffing my ID away.

"You won't." Masen grins. His confidence in me is nice, but it does nothing to kill the anxiety that's flaring up. It's as if he knows I'm freaking out because he hooks an arm around my shoulders bringing me to him, kissing the tip of my nose.

Emmett comes back, sliding the gun, a couple of pairs of ear defenders, and eye protection over to us. "You'll be fine with this dude, he's the sharpest shooter I know." He winks.

My heart thuds, I'm not completely swayed.

Masen takes us to one of the free booths and I shed his hoodie, tying back my hair standing with my hands on my hips, still feeling that ache between my legs as he explains things.

Masen's patient with my questions, as he covers things like specifications, and then moves onto showing me each aspect of setting up the gun; how you load the magazine, then making me do it; how to hold it; how to stand; how to take the safety off; how to use the front and rear sights to line it up with a target.

"So, like this?" I say, unsure. There's a lot to take in. I line up my front and rear sight like he showed me, left foot forward.

He comes behind me. Shifting my hips, lowering his head so he's got my line of sight.

"Uh-huh," he presses a kiss to the little patch of skin just below my ear before he moves away, leaning to the side of me, distracting me with how tight his t-shirt is on his biceps. "Whenever you're ready."

I pull down my ear defenders before raising and pointing at the piece of paper in the distance, the outline of a person on it. It takes me far too long, but when I finally pull the trigger, I'm still not prepared for how powerful the gun feels going off in my hand.

It's not surprising that I'm way off target; I might've let out a little shriek because it was just not quite what I was expecting.

Masen just smiles when I turn my head to him, flushing, embarrassed.

"Try again," he says, encouragingly.

I do better the next few times, it's not too far off the shoulder, the one after that to the left of the head.

"Show me how you line up. My eyes are going crazy, they don't know what to focus on."

"Always focus on the target, sights should be blurry," he pulls the trigger with no hesitation, no flinch, straight through the head, then through the heart, twice.

"Pssh, now you're just showing off… Anythin' you're not good at?"

"It's just practice. Don't overthink. Have another go. You got ten rounds left." He hands black metal back to me, pointed downwards, safety back on. "And there's lots of things I'm not good at. Can't spell for shit, can't cook fancy shit, and I'm definitely, _definitely _no good at controlling myself around you." His hands find my ass, nose skimming my neck. "You kinda look like that Lara Croft chick, but hotter. This is jerk off material for me right now."

I look at him like he's crazy.

"No one is hotter than Angelina Jolie as Lara Croft," I scoff.

He just grins, stepping back, taking out his cell—it's new, an iPhone or something. He tells me to look over my shoulder and smile and I indulge him as he snaps a picture.

"Speakin' of cooking... _you_ owe me breakfast. Don't think I've forgotten. Or was that just a play to get me to your place?"

"What do you think?" he asks raising his eyebrows. Then more serious. "I was gonna make you pancakes. I can do those." He moves closer to me again, mouth to my ear. "But your pussy tasted better than any breakfast I could've made. I could eat you for days."

A soft groan slips from my mouth, warmth creeping over me as he grips my hips and pulls me back towards him gently, mouth finding my neck.

"Make me pancakes when we're finished here, please?"

"Done."

I finally start hitting the target, but I'm still struggling when I unexpectedly hit a perfect headshot with my second to last round. Masen whoops and I turn to him in amazement, buzzing.

"Did you see? Total fluke, but I'll take it."

"Do it again, you got one more round," he challenges.

"Nope, I'd rather go out on a high. How crushed will I be if I miss this next one? It'll kill my vibe."

He takes the shot for me and my mouth goes dry, the fleeting look of concentration on his face the same look he has when he's pushing inside me.

Suddenly all I want is that.

Him.

I last the car ride home, Masen making good on his pancakes and then I'm all over him.

We undress each other all over again until he's back inside me. Slow, lazy, unhurried, like he promised, and it hurts so damn good. Palm to palm, skin slick on slick skin until I come hard and he comes harder.

I fall asleep almost straight after, exhausted, fleetingly thinking and hoping he's as tangled up in me as I am in him.

Even though it feels too much.

Too soon.

...

I'm woken abruptly to the sound of clapping, Masen startling beside me, his arm flying over me protectively, his other hand pulling a gun from somewhere.

"Nice," I hear Alec drawl.

I blink, blearily, seeing him standing a few feet away, pursuing me with a gleam in his eye. Realizing I'm naked and he's probably getting an eyeful, I scramble to cover myself with a gasp.

"Get the fuck out!" Masen growls, lowering the gun and getting out of bed at lightning speed, seething, pulling on a pair of sweats.

Alec, in all his arrogance, doesn't move.

"You weren't answerin' your phone," Alec shrugs, hands in pockets, casual. "Thought I'd come over and check on you. Make sure you hadn't been iced. I was _concerned_."

"I was busy."

"I see that," Alec smirks. "Smells like a brothel in here. Knew you'd got some balls somewhere." His eyes drift to me and I feel like I've been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. "Y'know, Doll, if you're not averse to an extra player in the game, I'd be- "

"Not a fuckin' chance!" Masen snarls, striding over to Alec, bare-chested and shoving him out the door, away from me.

I cringe. Masen shoots me a look before he yanks the bedroom door closed. A second later I flinch as there's a massive thud against the wall and I think he may have just pinned Alec to it.

I sit there for a minute, still clutching sheets to my chest listening to him tear into Alec, my heart thudding hard.

What a way to start the day.

Alec's still there when I come out from my shower, wet hair thrown up in a bun, wearing one of Masen's t-shirts and my leggings. I had been hoping he'd have left already but no such luck.

They're talking in low voices at the dining table any issues apparently settled. Alec looks ruffled and I'm kind of glad Masen laid it out to him, because the guy makes me feel queasy.

I wander over to the balcony, pulling on one of Masen's hoodies as Alec's switches into Italian as soon as he's aware I'm there. His voice still carries though, and I can't help but listen; even though I'm pretending I'm not.

"_He's becomin' a fuckin' liability. Surprised the Feds ain't all over it yet. He's gonna bring us all down the way he's carrying on, the paranoid old bastard, never mind the fuckin' Russians—he'll destroy us. He needs to go. I need you to help me get rid, y'know what I'm saying? You'll be well rewarded, I'll make sure of it._"

I unlock the door and step out into the cold, breathing in air that makes my lungs sting, and my hot breath expel in clouds. I look out at the city as I spark up a cigarette, comfort in the hum of the traffic, the warmth from the flame on my hand as I cup it. I turn slightly waiting for Masen to speak finding he's looking at me, catching my eye before he refocuses on Alec.

"_I help you do this… I want out. No reprisals_," he says on his exhale, voice hitched, stubbing out his cigarette.

I can't see Alec's expression but I can hear him snort.

"_Are you fuckin' serious?_"

"_Yeah_." He rubs his face. "_That's what I want_."

I busy myself with my phone, feeling guilty for being privy to this, seeing I missed a call from Maria last night. When I dial her back, she picks up almost immediately, not even greeting me before she launches into how she broke it off with Petey last night after confronting him.

"He's such a fuckin' liar, it was written all over his face and he had the balls to try to deny it! Bastard."

"What a dick. Honestly, Maria, you're better off without him. I really thought he was one of the good ones," I tell her, flicking ash away. "Listen, I'll be home later ready for work, OK?"

"Sure. Missed havin' you around these past few days, babe. Paul was a douchebag last night. Think he's still pissed he lost out on you. Wasn't happy seein' you goin' off with Masen the other day. Like, at all."

"You think he's gonna make my life hell now?"

"Don't think he'd dare," she giggles. She asks me how things are going, suggestiveness in her voice.

I can't help the smile that breaks out on my face or the laugh that escapes because, despite everything, I think the last few days are the happiest I've felt in ages. I look back into the apartment, at Masen as he looks up from his conversation with Alec and smiles faintly at me. I turn away again, looking down at the traffic. "Yeah—um, good. Really good, actually."

"You're gonna have to give me all the deets later," she says. "That reminds me, actually, some cops came looking for you yesterday."

"What?" My smile fades. "Are you serious? What for?"

"James."

I kind of want to breathe a sigh of relief and throw up simultaneously.

"They left a card. It's probably just standard, you were with him for a long time, y'know?"

"Yeah. I guess," I say frowning, a lump in my throat. "Look, I'll see you in a bit. OK?"

I hang up quickly, finishing off my cigarette, then shoot off a text to Charlotte. She's still not responded to my message from Saturday and I'm kind of getting worried. It's not like her at all; but mostly, I feel like I kinda need to freak out to her right now.

…

"Not regrettin' this are you?"

Masen's voice startles me from my thoughts.

"Why would you think that?" I tilt my head at him.

"You're quiet." His eyes don't move off the road as he drives me to Maria's.

"No, I'm not regrettin' anything."

His posture relaxes, infinitesimally. Truthfully, I'm kind of sad our bubble is about to burst, a little worried he'll just disappear again, but I don't tell him that. I don't want to look clingy.

"I'm just—when I was on the phone to Maria she said some cops had stopped by. They want to talk to me about James. Guess I'm just worried."

Masen considers this for a moment. "You want me there when you speak to them? You're allowed that."

"I don't—I don't know. Maybe. Is that a good idea? With what you did to him?"

"Maybe not," he concedes. He glances over, sliding his warm hand along my thigh, squeezing. "It'll be alright."

My smile is faint. I'm not so sure; the red flags are waving and there's absolutely nothing I can do.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

The bass reverberates so loudly in the quiet of the room I can feel the vibrations through the soles of my feet. I move my body with it; rolling hips, loose limbs, twirling until I'm spinning, feet off the ground. I bring my legs up, crossing them at the ankle to climb higher up the pole. I want to perfect this move Maria is trying to get me to do at the end of the routine, where I end up upside down. It's proving really fucking difficult to nail though.

Maria's standing off to the side encouraging me, sounding out little cues. The girl's a slave driver, if not a good teacher. She'll come and adjust my hands, or yell at me to arch a bit more, or straighten my leg or just tell me off when I'm slacking.

Either way, I'm glad it's distracting her from shit with Petey. She's spent the past week blown on coke and I'm keen to stop her going down that path. With Christmas less than a week away and not having her daughter around, everything is bound to take its toll and I'm not so sure how long I can distract her from self-destruction.

The club is empty, but it'll be heaving later. It always is apparently; corporate Christmas after-parties and the rich wanting to let loose before indulging in picture-perfect, wholesome holiday fun with the family.

I let myself fall back, hands-free momentarily, before I'm reaching for contact with cool metal once more. My fingers find it, and after only two rotations my core is shaking with the effort of holding myself up like this. I right myself, one leg hooked, the other trailing as I slowly spin myself down until my feet hit solid ground.

Maria claps. "Good, good, now try it again. Hold it for longer."

It goes badly; I end up swearing in a heap on the floor, ankle and ass smarting.

"What happened? You were doing good," Maria says, hauling me to my feet.

"It's my fuckin' hand!" I wince as I put weight on my ankle. "Couldn't feel a thing. I panicked." I'm irritated, shaking out the numbness. "Let's go again. Put White Stripes on for me, please."

"Are you sure?" her gaze flits behind me but I just nod. She beams, heading off to the booth.

The music starts up again. There's just something about "Seven Nation Army," that I really enjoy dancing to. Normally it's chart stuff that's on in here, but I like this more; a little rougher, edgier, sexier.

This time I get it right. I start off slowly, dancing around the pole with my feet firmly on the floor. At first, this was awkward, but Maria just says it looks even more awkward if I don't just let go. So I do. I've learned to. Watching the other girls night after night has helped with that too.

I swing around slowly, feet lifting off the ground, opening my legs wide then together to gain momentum, crossing them to climb, higher and higher up, leaning, swaying my weight until I'm moving faster, contorting until my legs are crossed, secure.

I manage three rotations this time, just about, and then I'm twisting myself back upright, legs swinging together then apart again, securing myself to the pole with an arm. My free hand grips my trail leg and brings it up toward my head. Months of yoga ever improving my flexibility.

"That's my girl!" Maria beams, my heart pounding. She's pleased and I'm exhausted, walking over to my water bottle, snatching it up, finding her slapping my ass really hard.

"Bitch, cut it out." I roll my eyes, popping the top so I can chug it. It's only when I pause for breath I finally notice we've gained an audience.

Paul sits talking to Alec, to the side of us at the back of the room, feet propped up on a chair, casual as they come. Alec is studying papers spread across a table, Masen to his right, Ben on his other side, transfixed. How long they've been there is anyone's guess.

Masen's mouth lifts into a slow, lopsided smile that makes my heart pound impossibly fast. Hair mussed up, tight white t-shirt; I bite my lip thinking of his weight between my thighs. His smile gets a little bigger.

We've seen each other off and on since he dropped me back off at Maria's that Wednesday morning, and when I don't see him, he texts or calls. I stayed at his apartment the night before last but he had to disappear later on.

I didn't ask, and he didn't tell; I'm not ready to cloud whatever this is between us with concerns.

Besides, everything's relaxed. Casual. We haven't labelled anything, and I'm OK with that at the moment. I'm still wary, half expecting him to duck out on this anyway.

I learn new things about him all the time, like the reason he said he was shit at spelling is actually because he's dyslexic; and Masen isn't his actual name. His actual name is Edward. He doesn't ever use Edward though because that was his dad's name too. He didn't have to explain any further after he'd mentioned that, his story of his Mom replaying in my head.

Maria and I sit on the edge of the stage whilst I catch my breath. I don't want to interrupt whatever business is going on no matter how tempting it is to fling myself at Masen. I don't want to embarrass him and I don't really want to be in any closer proximity to Alec than I need to be, either, knowing what I do.

Paul gets up and walks over to us and I just know what's coming because it's always the same.

"This week?" he asks hopefully, directed at me. "You're looking real good up there."

"But not really," I tell him as he steps closer to me, almost between my legs. I cross them before he can come any closer, shifting, uncomfortable. His hand comes out so he can lean on the stage instead, still a bit too close.

"How about I sweeten the deal for you—I'll take no cut for the first week, huh? Get all your tips on top too. Just before Christmas and you'll earn a packet."

I hesitate, the debt forever in the back of my mind. I could really do with the money, there's no doubt about that.

Paul sniffs pushing back off the stage and chuckles a little as I remain silent, looking at the chipped nail polish on my toes.

"What's it gonna take Bella, to get you up there?" he says, teeth gritted, annoyance obvious.

My eyebrows pull together, eyes lurching to his face, surprised at his tone.

"You said there'd be no pressure." I retort. "_You_ said that."

"That was… before."

My voice raises. "Before _what_? Were you lying?"

His nostrils flare. "No," he says, at last, not answering my first question, deliberately.

I study his face for a moment and I wonder if Maria is right that he's pissed I went off with Masen; because I've been avoiding him ever since. Did he think I was into him?

"Well then, what's the problem? I'll think about it."

"You've been thinking about it for the last three fucking months," he replies, eyes flashing to Maria. "_You_ said she'd be up for it."

"I didn't promise anything," Maria says wide-eyed. "I thought she might but if she doesn't, don't be a dick about it, Paul. Geez."

I jump down from the stage, twisting the cap onto my bottle of water, walking away, feeling a lot like a pawn in a game of chess.

"Bella!" Paul calls after me but I ignore him, hearing Maria tell him to leave me alone.

Alec is leant against the bar, chatting on his cell as I stalk across the floor, Masen and Ben talking at the table. Masen's eyes are on me and when he gestures subtly with his head for me to come over I just shake my head.

Masen's on his feet then, covering the distance between us.

"You alright? He bothering you?"

I fiddle with the top of my bottle, as his hands meet my waist, moving me so I'm closer to him. There's a spark there, annoyance maybe. Not at me, but at Paul, I think.

"Just about dancin'. He said there'd be no pressure before I agreed to work here and like, now that's all he seems to be doin'."

"Want me to have a word?"

I shake my head. "It's fine, really." The last thing I need is for Masen to start shit with Paul because I _need_ this job.

"Y'know, you're real fuckin' sexy up there," he says, tilting his head, words warm on my skin, hands sliding to grope my ass in tiny shorts.

"Shoulda made you sweat the other week then, huh?"

Masen grins and groans a little. "I respected you for that. For sayin' no. Alec did too… why he gave you the money anyway."

I hum as his fingers trace patterns on my rib cage, playing with the sensitive skin just underneath the edge of my sports bra. I used the money to pay off more of the loans.

"Are you comin' over later? You can make me sweat then," Masen winks and I can't help but smile.

"Sure."

He lays it on me then, his mouth warm and wanting. I sigh into him; his kisses are the best, making my heart skip, my knees weak.

Pulling me over to the table they're sat at, he re-introduces me to Ben; tugging me to sit on his lap, sparking up a cigarette. I turn away from Ben's beady eyes, just as Alec reappears, sitting in his seat and watching Masen for a minute.

"_You're pissing him off_," he says to him in clipped Italian, looking in Paul's direction.

"_Good_," Masen responds, casually. "_Fucker needs to know_."

"_Never thought I'd see the day some bitch had you whipped," _Ben says with a shake of his head. "_Fuckin' tragic. Must be some pussy_."

Masen breathes in deeply, his fingers tightening around my waist, his other hand jabbing at Ben, cigarette tucked in.

"_Knock it off, you little prick, before I knock you out_."

"Joking," Ben says in English, raising his hands, laughing.

Masen shakes his head, nostrils flaring. "No, you weren't. I told you before."

Maria joining us breaks the tension when Alec beckons her over. She's gushing over Alec talking to her in Italian, thinking he's being sweet. She thinks it's sexy. Really he's just telling her what a good little whore she is. Ben is laughing at her and I just… I don't like it.

He turns my stomach.

I want to say something but I hold my tongue.

When I look at Masen I realize he's been watching me, watch them, and I hope to God the look on my face doesn't give away the fact that I understand everything.

…

"Bella Swan?" The voice is firm, authoritative and distinctly female.

"Yeah?" I turn from where I'm stuffing my bag into my locker. A man and woman stand close, the woman closer. She's dressed nice; tight blue suit pants and heels, white blouse, camel coloured coat, blonde hair pulled back off her face. She flashes a badge.

"Detective Hale and this is my partner, Detective Uley. We just have a few questions we'd like to ask you if you don't mind?"

My mouth dries. I've been putting off calling them. And now they're here. My eyes dart from her to her partner, nervously, disquiet buzzing in my veins.

"Um, sure. Should we go somewhere quieter?" I glance around, the dressing room full of girls in various states of undress. They're already starting to attract attention. Zafrina catches my eye and raises an eyebrow speculatively.

"Please."

They follow me out and I check the scheduling of the VIP rooms, choosing the one that isn't going to have anyone in it till much later, opening the door and gesturing them in, suddenly very self-aware of how little I'm wearing in a shorter than short, red velvet dress—it is Christmas after all.

"We've been trying to get ahold of you," Detective Hale says as soon as the door closes behind us, looking around the room with sharp eyes.

I nod. "Yeah, sorry. I keep odd hours working here, I'm usually asleep in the day these days… this is about James, right? My housemate said."

"Take a seat."

I nod and do as I'm told, sitting on the plush curved seating area wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible.

Detective Hale angles her body towards me, a warm smile on her face. Detective Uley is quiet, observant. He smiles faintly when I look at him but doesn't speak.

"I just want to stress that we're just here to obtain information, you're not in any trouble or anything like that. The DA prosecutor wants this to be a cut and dry case so we're just collecting what we can to support that."

"OK," my voice is small and I'm biting my lip. "I'm not sure how much help I'll be, though. We broke up, like, months ago."

"Let's start with that."

Detective Uley brings out a pen and notepad.

Their questions are like a quick-fire quiz. Why did we break up? How long were we together? How did we meet? How old was I? How old was he? Did he deal in Phoenix? When did we move to Chicago? How did he end up with the diner? Did I suspect he was trafficking? What was a regular day like? Any specific incidents? Was he a user of drugs himself? Did he disappear for periods of time? Did he tell me where he was going?

I answer as best I can. Saying 'sorry' far too many times. This doesn't faze them, if I can't answer the questions, then they move on. Everything is going as I expected... until it's not.

"Did you know that he had a gambling problem?"

This one throws me; a curveball I didn't see coming.

"A gambling problem?" I repeat, dumbstruck. "Um—no. No. I didn't know…" I lapse into silence letting it sink in. "I, um, I guess, it makes sense though, I think. It would explain a lot."

"Can you elaborate?"

I swallow thickly. "Like, he was always obsessed with money, he had control of all the finances. He wouldn't even let me have my own paycheque from the diner and um, before I left him. I found out he'd taken loans out, in my name, without my knowledge."

Detective Hale raises an eyebrow. "And you didn't report this?"

I shake my head. "I just wanted to get away, to not look back, y'know? I'm paying them off slowly but anything was better than being with him at that point. And besides, my word against his, ain't it?"

"So, he was financially controlling. Did he display any other behaviors like that? Was he ever physically violent towards you?"

I blink and nod slowly, anxiety kicking in full force as it hits close to home. I really wish I could smoke right now. I blow out a long breath, hands trembling.

"We were handed these by one of your friends—a Miss Charlotte Williams. Are these of you, Bella?" Detective Hale opens a brown-beige folder and pulls out a stack of photos. Each is a picture of me; close-ups of a busted face, black eyes, fingerprints around my throat and arms. I never even knew she took these. I can't remember her ever doing it, but she must have.

I have to describe incidents, in detail, to them as her partner writes it all down. The controlling behaviour, his drug use, how he'd fly into rages, pinning me to walls, hitting me, kicking me, hands around my throat, the threats, the controlling behaviour; how he forced himself on me that one time and I was just too tired to even fight back. How he threatened me if I ever left him.

Detective Hale looks grim by the time I'm finished but she squeezes my shoulder reassuringly.

"We could level charges against him," she tells me.

I laugh and shake my head. "He'd plead not guilty just to spite me. I can't. I can't go through a court case like that, they'd tear me apart. They'd make me look like I deserved it. _This_ is bad enough. I just want to move on. That's all I want. Please- please don't. Please."

She nods tightly, gives me her card, thanks me for my time and says they'll be in touch. They'll put this to the DA prosecutor and they'll decide. It's likely they'll want me to testify at any rate.

The thought terrifies me.

I spend the rest of the evening struggling with work, too jumpy and on edge. The final straw is smashing a load of drinks all over the floor. Maria and Zafrina try and console me but my head is too fucked. It hits me hard. The wrongness of it. How did I not see it? How did I stay so long?

And then I'm just so fucking angry; at myself and at him for being stupid enough to drag me back into all this shit by being so fucking reckless. And then I worry because surely being with Masen makes me a fucking hypocrite.

I do the line of coke Maria offers and then I do another because I can't afford to bail tonight.

It takes the edge off.

It makes me feel like I can take on anything and right now that's exactly what I need.

...

"You're high," Masen says when he picks me up, one glance at me telling him all he needs to know. He's frowning but I'm unapologetic.

"The cops came to talk. About James. I just needed somethin' after to get me through work."

"You're upset." It's not a question. My knees bounce and I'm rubbing at my arms, reaching for one of his smokes, sparking up without even asking.

"Charlotte gave them pictures… I didn't even know she'd taken pictures. I mean, they were talking about pressing charges like it's that fuckin' simple; like he wouldn't deny everything. Anyways, they might want me to testify. _You_ can breathe easy, I didn't tell them anything about that."

My tone is acidic and I know I'm being a bitch but I can't help it.

"Bella," his voice is gentle, heavy. He's not sure what to say and I get that.

"Sorry," I apologize. "This is just really—just really fucking my head up. Having to-to relive stuff I'd rather not."

Masen's quiet, rubbing a finger along my arm as he drives. I revel in the contact, grounded by it, but when we get to his place, I cry a little.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"No." I kiss him. "I want you to make it go away."

He takes his time, every bit of skin, kissed. He makes me feel so much, without uttering a single word, until I'm a panting mess underneath him.

I drift off, uneasy, and when I wake James' hands are tight around my throat.

_Fucking bitch._

"No-no-no! Stop it. Stop it!"

The fear is real, the smell of him is real, the feeling of his hand squeezing and his fist hitting is real. I can't breathe, my chest so, _so_ tight. I'm frozen in this moment, where he's so angry and I'm so terrified he's going to kill me, crying at him to stop, stop, stop.

Masen's voice saying my name pulls me from far away, his face appearing. I feel the heat of his body, his fingertips running down my arms, his voice telling me that it's OK, that I need to breathe, that he's got me.

I blink and blink and breathe and breathe until I'm properly awake, clinging to him until my heart slows.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

We're sat in the cinema watching _American Gangster_. Masen's choice, not mine, but when he's not scoffing and chuckling darkly under his breath he's watching me, I can see him out of the corner of my eye.

I throw popcorn at him, stuffing my mouth full. "Stop staring, you're gonna give a girl a complex."

"You're far more interestin' to watch then this shit," he says under his breath.

I don't think that's his only reasoning. He's been worried, I think, about my nightmares... about how I'm dealing with James' trial hanging over me. I haven't heard anything yet, so for now, I'm putting it right to the back of my mind.

It's that weird few days between Christmas and New Year. We spent Christmas apart; I didn't want Maria to be on her own after she ended things with Petey, and he was with his family anyway.

Maria showed me pictures of her daughter— Lola, a dark-haired girl with chubby cheeks and caramel skin; she's just about the cutest kid I've ever seen. She told me she puts most of the money she earns from working at Bliss into savings; she wants to hire a lawyer and get her back, or try to at least, and I gotta admire her for that.

Charlotte joined us later in the evening and we got drunk on Amaretto and watched all the _Home Alone_ movies, one after another.

Dysfunctional and kind of perfect, really.

Masen rang me later on, sounding pissed off; his brother the catalyst. They don't get on at all.

I'm trying to pay attention to Denzel Washington and his fur hat, but Masen's fingers are slowly trailing up and down my inner thigh, finding the hemline of my skirt and sliding up so far, he finds thin lace, pressing on my clit gently.

"Wanna get out of here?" he says as my breathing hitches. "I could watch you touch yourself."

I squirm.

"I wanna watch this movie you paid twenty bucks to see," I tell him, staring at the screen. He slowly circles and I have to hide a breathy moan with a fake cough, shooting daggers at him as he can't contain a snort of laughter.

I sink lower in my seat as mortification sets in. Luckily this movie came out weeks ago so there's not many people around but a few in front turn their heads, glaring.

I throw more popcorn at him.

His fingers still and stay still, and the longer they're there, unmoving, the hotter and wetter I get. He talks dirty in my ear every now and then, and I can't concentrate one bit on this stupid movie.

We're the first ones out the door when it finishes, and he's got me up against a wall as soon as we're outside, kissing the ever-loving sense out of me, before we run in the snow all the way down the street to his car, laughing.

"You wanna come back to my place?" he says as he drives me to Maria's. "It's closer to work for you tomorrow."

He prefers the privacy of his, and so do I if I'm being truthful.

"I promised Maria."

"That's cool."

And I really like that about him. He's nothing like James in that respect; making me feel guilty over stuff like that.

I lean over and kiss him, his stubble grazing my lips and I may linger a fraction longer than necessary as I study his profile.

His voice draws my attention and I look out the windscreen as he slows the car.

"What the fuck?"

Maria's outside, almost at the sidewalk, only wearing a cami top and jeans, feet buried in snow, shouting at Charlotte. I'm out of the car before Masen has even rolled to a stop, jeers from the neighbours echoing in the street.

"What the fuck is going on?" I cry running toward them.

Maria turns to me, mascara smeared down her face.

"She's the one!" she shrieks. "She's the one Petey was cheatin' on me with!"

She turns back suddenly and launches herself at Charlotte; slapping, hitting, grabbing fistfuls of hair as I'm momentarily frozen.

_Wait. What?_

Petey and Charlotte? Petey and Charlotte? I'm grabbing Maria before I can process, only for Masen to gently move me off and haul her away, arm around her waist.

"Calm down!" he's telling her as she claws at his arm and kicks her legs.

"Let me go! Let me fuckin' go! You _bitch_! You complete and utter two-faced cow!" she screams, red-faced with rage.

I look to Charlotte, brushing snow off herself, ashen and angry.

"That true?"

"She didn't deserve him!" Charlotte snaps. Her face flushes as she points at Maria accusingly.

"You know how much I love him," Maria sobs, still fighting against Masen's firm grip. "You know I do!"

"That why you can't stop spreading your legs?" Charlotte retorts. "If you love him so much, you'd never entertain it. He deserves more than being treated like fuckin' shit!"

I can't get my head around it. She never said anything about having any kind of feelings for Petey at all. Never. Not to me anyway. And then it hits me hard; her not being around as much, not answering her texts, avoidance almost. It almost makes sense. But it doesn't.

"Why would you do that to her? What happened to chicks before dicks?" I throw her own words back in her face.

Charlotte shakes her head, looking Maria up and down. "Need not apply to skanks."

"Char—" I shake my head wordless as Maria lets out another scream of rage. "Look, just... this is crazy. Just, just go home I don't think this is—this is her home."

"That how it's going to be? You're siding with her? After everything?" She's hostile, hand on her hip, eyes narrowed at me.

"It's not like that and you know it."

"All those times I picked you up after James—does GQ over there even know about half of the shit he did to you?"

My fists clench. "This isn't about me, Char! I'm not taking sides here. Seriously, how did you think this was going to end?" I look at her incredulously. "Just—please, leave. I love you both but she don't need this right now. I'll call you."

"Fine!"

She stalks to her car, slamming the door too hard, driving off so fast the tires spin and churn snow.

Masen lets Maria go gently, and she's stumbling, shivering and shaking into my arms, crying so hard it's making me well up.

...

I make Maria take some Valium and then I hug her on her bed, a tangle of arms and tears. We don't say anything, at this point I'm not sure what I can say to make this better. Because I really, really can't. I can't even comprehend it myself. What the fuck was Charlotte thinking?

Shit is fucked up.

I always knew she thought Maria treated Petey badly but doing this to her? It's beyond any kind of vindictiveness I thought she was capable of. Out of character, even. And there's no going back from this. Our friendships are fucked.

I come out of her room, closing the door quietly, Masen appearing in the doorway, the low murmur of the TV in the background. He takes my hand in his, leading me to my room.

"You didn't have to stay," I tell him as he closes the door behind us with a soft click.

"I wanted to."

He sits on the edge of my bed, lifting me to straddle him, his mouth already on mine as moonlight pours through the window onto my white bedsheets, making our skin glow.

Crossing my arms I peel my top off, shivering as soon as cold air touches my skin, nipples hardening. He bites at my lip, unfastening my bra, hands coming to cup heavy feeling boobs. A squeeze, a roll of his thumb.

"You're wearing too many clothes," I mumble as I slide off him and kick off my panties. I'm about to take my skirt off too but he tells me to leave it on as he sheds his clothes, tugging me forward so his hot mouth can attack my nipples, a low moan escaping from somewhere. His thumb circles my clit, teasing until I'm shifting in frustration, needing more.

I sink down onto him nice and slow and he's looking at me intently, leaning back on his elbows, his eyes everywhere.

I like it like this.

That might be a lie.

I love it like this.

"So fuckin' hot," he groans, sitting up a little bit, one hand moving to grip my waist as I roll my hips faster, his own pushing upwards as I chase that feeling of bliss.

"Yeah?"

"Fuck, yeah." His voice is rough, his eyes dark, he squeezes the flesh on my hips as I move over him.

"Oh God, you're gonna make me come," I whimper so, so close, until one last grind has me there, nails clawing in his shoulders as I'm crying out.

Masen stands up with me, turning me around, pushing in from behind once my face is buried in the softness of my sheets, hands fisting material. He thrusts hard, my moans muffled, his hands tight on my waist, his movements more and more erratic, a "Fuck, B," escaping from his mouth as he releases deep.

I roll back against the bed pressing myself harder into the mattress as he lies down behind me, sensitive to every slight touch as he glides fingers over cold skin.

"Spend New Year's Day with me," he asks, mouth wrapping around my ear, biting lightly.

"I'm working New Year's Eve, not sure how much good I'll be New Years Day," I tell him, blinking up into dark eyes.

It's a blessing and a curse. I'm hoping people will be ridiculously generous with their tips, but it's bound to be a killer with how busy it is. Paul went all out with advertising. It's going to be more like a regular club for the night he says. He's got some famous DJ flying in or something. Not that he's told me this. He's backed off completely recently and I have a feeling Masen had a word with him even when I told him not to.

"My sister-in-law is doing a thing." He pauses. "You could come with me to that if you wanted."

I turn in his arms, fully facing him. "You want me to come to a family thing?"

He shrugs like it isn't a big deal.

But it is a big deal.

To me at least.

"You can distract me from Carl before I end up puttin' him in that hospital he loves so much."

I want to laugh but he's deadly serious.

"Is it at their house? Do I need to find something, like, fancy to wear?" I'm worried about having to find extra money. I don't think I have anything that'd be classy enough, and I don't have that long to find something, either.

"I'll pay if you wanna buy something new," he says. "Don't overthink."

I laugh. "You invited me to a family thing, of course I'm gonna overthink. The last time I saw your brother I was a state, and he accused you of doin' it, remember?"

Masen's expression darkens as he plays with a lock of my hair, twisting the strands around his finger. He's quiet, studying my face.

"I don't wanna fuck this up…" he says, trailing off. "I know we ain't really talked it through but... be my girl. I'll be so fuckin' good to you, I swear."

I bring my hand to his face, tracing his jaw lightly with the tip of my index finger, my heart soaring that he wants more. That he wants to make this real.

I only hesitate because of the betrayal we've just witnessed. His face hides it, but his eyes… there's a flicker of uncertainty there the longer I'm silent.

I smile.

"OK."

His mouth lifts, his expression morphing, mirroring my own happy one.

"Yeah?"

"Yes." I swallow, still thinking of Char and Petey and Maria. "Just... If you're ever gonna stick your dick in someone else, respect me enough to break up with me first."

He blows out a laugh. "I can promise that."

…

Charlotte's already sat in the tiny coffee shop we arranged to meet at, drumming her nails on the table, chewing gum slowly, distracted as she looks at her phone.

"Hey," I say, sliding into the seat across from her, glancing around at the industrial style decor. She looks up, a weak smile on her face and I have to wonder how things got so messed up so quickly. Not just between her and Maria either. I thought things had gone back to normal between us after we made up, after James, but I'm second-guessing that now. I'm not sure how I feel about her handing those photos over to the cops either.

"Hey, B," she looks at me and leans back in her seat, crossing cream cable knit covered arms in front of her, her eyes linger on my neck where I know Masen has left a mark.

"What?" I say self consciously, tucking my hair behind my ear.

"Have you seen yourself recently?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you're fuckin' glowing, girl. GQ doing something right, that's for sure."

I look down and bite my lip, unable to contain my smile or how my tummy flips when I think about him. It falters and I look up at her, frowning.

"Are _you_ happy?" I counter.

She nods, stiffly, like she doesn't want to admit it. If she's happy, she feels guilty about it.

"Char, we gotta talk about this. I mean, I feel like... like I've been blindsided. You and Petey? For real? I never thought you felt like that about him. You never said anything? And for him to cheat—"

"It didn't go down like you think," Charlotte interrupts. "Like Maria says."

"Well, tell me," I implore.

She sighs and gets up. "Coffee first, OK?"

She returns from paying, slumping down in her seat with defeat, not defiant like the other night.

"First thing. Nothing happened before she broke up with him. Not, like, physically."

"But Maria found texts, on Petey's phone saying he couldn't wait to be, and I quote, 'inside you'."

An older lady at the table next to us looks up disapprovingly and tuts, turning the page of her paper with by wetting the tip of her finger.

I lower my voice. "That don't sound like nothing happened!"

We're quiet as the waitress delivers two coffees, waiting for her to leave.

"Look, I'm not goin' to bullshit you. Things just happened. We were hangin' out at Janie's a couple of months ago, when you were both working… It was fun. Then I dunno, we just started flirting here and there."

She explains it was just a natural progression, but nothing happened until a few weeks ago; after Maria dumped him. "He was gonna do it anyway, he was just waitin' for the right time, what with Christmas and all but she ended it with him first. Things were getting a little heated, that's what Maria saw… I know it doesn't make it any better, B."

I can't justify this for her. "Flirting with Petey behind her back- planning him breakin' up with her is still—it's like... an emotional betrayal."

I take a sip of too-hot coffee as she's silent, fingers twisting a pack of sugar.

"You didn't tell me none of this either. When did shit like that stop happening? When did we get so distant?"

Charlotte glances up. "I think I knew you'd say what you're sayin'… and you were busy with working and being over at Maria's all the time. I just... I think I love him, B. I can't help that."

We're silent for a long while.

"I just want you to be happy, Char, but this is… Maria is devastated. She talkin' about going and visiting her cousin, down south for a while. Things are just… things are never gonna be the same."

She smiles but it's sad and pained.

"I know."

...

I kick myself on my walk to work, remembering the condoms Maria found; remembering that I needed to ask about the photos of me.

I ring Charlotte my gut twisting unpleasantly with the feeling that she might've spent the whole of the last few hours lying to me. Lying to my face.

When she fails to pick up, twice, I text her.

…

Masen rings the doorbell of his brother's brownstone, fairy lights wrapping down the white wooden post, casting us in warm light as we wait.

I'm still knackered after last night. New Year's Eve was like hell on earth at the club. Well, it was until Masen showed up just before midnight.

I bite my lip thinking about the heavily curtained lap dancing booth we found ourselves in. I danced a little just for him; liking the heat in his eyes, the hardness of his dick through his jeans. His mouth all over me, his fingers teasing, my lips around his cock, the could-get-caught feeling making me so wet when he thrust inside I almost came straight away. It was hot, but _fuck_. Now is not the time to be thinking about it.

I tuck carefully curled hair behind my ear then reach for his hand for reassurance, nerves creeping back in. I'm more nervous than I care to admit.

The door opens, and a woman with dark reddish hair beams at us, arms coming out to envelop Masen.

"Happy New Year! So happy you could make it! Don't you scrub up well?" She pulls back, smoothing a hand down his suited shoulder. She's right about that, he looks hella hot in a suit.

"Hey, Es, sorry we're late," he says but he's not, I gave him head before we got ready, it's why we're late. He kisses her on the cheek as she turns to me.

"And you must be Bella! My goodness, you are just stunning! That blue is gorgeous on you." She pulls me into a hug and in all my awkwardness I return it, not sure where to put my hands or arms or anything.

"Lovely to meet you, Esme," I say politely as she steps back into the house, gesturing us to follow her. She takes our coats and hangs them up in a little closet before hooking her arm through mine and leading us into a room filled with people.

Masen follows and when I turn and look at him he only shrugs, a half-amused smile on his face.

"You don't know how happy I am Masen brought you along. He usually comes alone to this kind of thing," Esme says in hushed tones, glancing at him as he walks behind us. "Come meet my husband. Carlisle!"

If Carlisle is surprised I'm here, he doesn't show it. He exchanges a sharp look with Masen before greeting me as if he's never met me before.

I'm aware all too soon that the people attending this dinner party are all middle class, professionals and I'm so far from that it's unfunny. This is a completely different world from what I'm used to and I'm finding it overwhelmingly awkward. I don't know how to act, or what to say. I used to go to school with people who would end up like these people, but I'm not one of them.

At Bliss, we look after some of these types of men too, but they're not usually holding conversations about medical procedures and stocks, they're usually making crude comments and eye-fucking girls young enough to be their daughters.

Masen seems able to fit in with this crowd, somehow. He's rough around the edges, in the way he talks but he _can_ talk shop about business because he owns one. He's self-assured and he doesn't give a fuck that some of these people have an education. It makes it awkward at times, his dismissiveness, or assertiveness, his general demeanor making people slightly wary, on edge, but that's just him. He never makes me feel like that.

I feel small and I think he can sense my discomfort as he keeps me close, hand on my waist, rubbing circles with his thumb on my hip. I lean into him and make conversation when I can. It's all bullshit anyway, he whispers into my ear.

Caterers hover as we sit down at the large dining table. Esme pausing, smiling at me and Masen from across the table. She picks up her wine glass and takes a sip.

"So, how did you two meet?"


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Masen and I exchange a look.

_How did you two meet?_

"Through work," he answers his eyes not leaving mine. I want to laugh, but I guess that's as close to the truth as we can tell anyone. You can't exactly tell people you met whilst running drug money around for your ex-boyfriend, or that your current one is part of…

I mean, I don't even know what Masen actually _does_ for Alec. Not really.

"And what is it that you do, Bella?" Carlisle asks, patting at his mouth with a napkin.

I kind of want the ground to swallow me up right now, the weight of his blue eyes helping to push me there. His tone is pleasant, but it doesn't sit well, uneasiness rising in my chest, an uncomfortable reminder that I don't belong here. He knows I was a waitress, at least. My dress that night couldn't be mistaken for anything else.

"I, um, waitress. I'm saving money up to go to school." I tell him, trying not to lie about what I want to do.

Masen's hand finds my leg under the table.

"Did you not go before?" Esme pries.

"Plenty of people don't go to college, Es," Masen says, bored.

I shake my head deciding just to get the truth, or the closest version of it, out there but only because this is his family.

"No. My, um, my Mom died when I was young and my Grandma raised me. She died of cancer just before high school finished, and I had other priorities right then, I guess."

I hate this part. I hate this part more than any other thing: people's reactions, the sympathy, the pity. Esme's face is full of it and I want to cringe away before she even opens her mouth, but instead, I sit and suck it up.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart. That must have been awfully tricky. So young to deal with a tragedy like that. Teen years are a minefield without having to deal with probate and all that nonsense when you should be off having fun."

Carlisle decides to probe, unashamedly.

"You were old enough not to be a ward of the state then? Just left on your own? How did you handle it all? You got all of your Grandma's assets, I'm guessing?"

"Carl," Masen says sharply, warningly.

"Sorry," he says, but he's not.

I pause because I can't remember exactly. I wasn't coping, the pills James gave me made days blur. I think everything of Nonna's went to my Papà, but that's another can of worms I don't really want to open right now.

"I was eighteen, so I didn't have to go into care or anything… I had a boyfriend who sort of helped me, so not completely alone." I fidget, uncomfortable, pushing my food around my plate, not hungry anymore. It is what it is, but the thought of James makes me feel sick.

Instead, I grab my white wine and take more than a healthy sip, repressing a shudder the sharp taste brings.

I excuse myself for a little while after the main course is done, hunting down my coat and stepping out into the darkness of their backyard, smoking away hazy memories and feelings.

"Sorry," I apologize as Masen appears beside me. He brings out his own packet of cigarettes from his suit jacket pocket, forgoing his coat even though it's freezing out.

"Don't apologize. I wasn't thinking this through. _I'm_ sorry. C'mere."

He wraps a hand around my hips, pulling me back towards him so I can rest the back of my head against his chest. I stare up into a dark, orange lit sky, heavy-looking clouds drifting. It looks like it's going to snow again.

"Why do you do what you do for Alec?"

"I owe him," he replies, his voice rumbling through his chest as he exhales. "He helped me out when no one else would. It was a long time ago."

"Must've been pretty big if you still owe him," is all I say in response. I want to ask, but I have a feeling he wouldn't tell me anyway.

"It was."

I turn in his arms. "He, um, he creeps me out," I confess. "I know where he was gonna force me to work." I don't meet his eyes then, focusing on filling my lungs full of smoke.

He's deadly serious when I do peek at him, his eyebrows drawn together, a dark look on his face. "You shouldn't know about that."

Maybe I shouldn't. But I do.

"I remembered from the first time I met you guys. He said I'd 'fit in' there, so I asked around," I say, by way of explanation. I'm looking at the ground again, my stomach churning.

He breathes my name softly. "I wasn't ever gonna let that happen. Not ever."

"You didn't even know me then," I say doubtfully, meeting his eyes. "Why would you do that?"

He gazes at me for a second, and I feel like we're back by the motel, where he really sees me. He tosses his cigarette butt into a plant pot, pulling me flush to him.

"I like to think I gotta good read on people, in my line of work you get feelings about people, situations. You didn't ever come across to me like you knew what James was doin'… and the way he'd talk 'bout you sometimes..."

He stops, shaking his head like he's trying to find the right words. I bite my lip, part of me curious to know. The fact James talked about me at all to them...

"I know there's stuff you ain't telling me. I know you're holding things back but you don't have to. Not with me. I hope you know that."

I bite the inside of my cheek, feeling like crying—confessing every single thing to him but I just…

I can't.

So I nod and I kiss him instead because I like that he cares, and he wants to know me; even the bits I need to keep hidden.

...

The woman standing next to me is a magazine editor; her features way too smooth to be natural. Her expression is barely changing. I'm trying to remember her name. She's a friend of Esme's from their college days at Northwestern and she's slinging back glasses of champagne like it's water, a slur to her words as she talks to me about shoots and celebrities she's worked with.

I look around for Masen; he's only a few feet away talking to some man with a balding head of hair and glasses. A woman approaches them, touching him with a familiarity that makes me pause. A hand on his arm, a soft smile on her lips. I can't hear what she's saying, but he doesn't look happy to see her. The man moves away and leaves them alone.

She's pretty. Beautiful even. Delicate features, blonde hair that falls in gentle, beachy waves.

Half his attention is on her, but he looks away soon enough, eyes flitting over the other guests as Esme swoops in and greets her like long lost sisters or something. I almost feel like I'm intruding.

My phone vibrates in my bag and I pluck it out, apologizing to magazine lady, glad for the distraction. Maria's text me to ask me how it's going and I find myself texting her back, telling her I want to bail so bad and asking whether that makes me a bad person?

I've just pressed send when a hand slides around my waist.

"Did I tell you how hot you look tonight?" Masen asks as he kisses the side of my head. I can't help but bite back a smile.

"Hmm," I answer, turning to him, hands sliding up and playing with his collar. "I think you might've said something about that already, y'know."

"I can't wait to get you home. You're the best bit about this whole fuckin' night."

We kiss, slow and soft, my arms wrapping around his neck, his hands on the small of my back. He tastes like champagne and anticipation and when we eventually stop, I catch the blonde-haired woman staring at us from across the room.

I don't acknowledge her, but I kind of want to.

…

"It won't last," a voice says as I exit the downstairs bathroom, freshly balmed lips rubbing together.

"Excuse me?" I pivot on my heels, turning to find the blonde leaning against the powder-plaster colored wall, waiting, arms folded, manicured red nails wrapped around a too-thin arm.

"It won't last. You and Masen. He doesn't _do_ relationships."

I tilt my head at her. "Thanks for the tip. I'll be sure to let him know."

She shrugs as she walks towards the bathroom. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

...

Masen is arguing with his brother when I return, feeling rattled. I take a seat next to him, gravitating my hand to his knee, picking up a flute of champagne, downing it swiftly, wondering who the fuck the blonde is to him.

An ex? It'd be real fucking typical if I met another one of his past hook-ups at a party. I think back to Kate. I definitely don't seem his usual blonde type, if that's what she is. I want to ask but Masen's angrily berating Carlisle.

"Maybe, if you showed up at Ma's every now and then you'd know she's not fuckin' copin'. I think-"

"_You're_ not a doctor, Masen."

"I don't need to be a doctor, you little shit, she's gettin' more and more confused, it ain't right. She called me _Edward_ the other day." He spits the name out, disgust in his voice.

"Well, you do bear a striking similarity to Senior, both in looks and attitude."

Masen flinches. "Don't you dare start with this shit again. I'm not _him_, no matter what you think."

"It's not what I think, it's what I know. I know exactly what you do and what you are. A-"

"Here we go! Here we fuckin' go! You say this an' yet you were the one-"

"Boys!" Esme approaches looking concerned. "Now is not the time or the place," she chides. "Carlisle go and mingle. Masen, I'll sort you out a whiskey."

Masen looks thoroughly pissed off as Carlisle stalks off, his knees bouncing, betraying frustration.

"Ready to get out of here? I've 'bout had enough of this shit," he says, running a hand through his hair, restlessly.

"Yeah," I agree, glad he's suggested it.

Esme returns with whiskey for Masen and then sits down so she can chat with me some more. She's asking me what I want to do at school, but Masen downs the tumbler and tells her we need to get going before I can even respond.

He's brusk and abrupt, but I think Esme's used to it, as she takes it in her stride, glancing at her watch. It _is_ late, almost midnight and people are starting to filter out anyway.

We're in the hallway when the blonde appears again.

"Leaving?" she asks, her voice saccharine sweet. "I was hoping to catch up with you, Masen, before you go."

"All that needs to be said has been said." He doesn't even look at her. Instead, he helps me into my coat. I feel her gaze burning into me and I smile as I look up.

"Sorry, I didn't catch your name earlier," I say, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. I offer my hand to her. "I'm Bella."

She stares at me for a second before reluctantly shaking my hand, disdain written on her face. "Tanya."

"Well, thanks _so_ much for your advice earlier, Tanya."

"What the fuck did you say to her?" Masen snarls.

"Nothing that isn't true!" Tanya retorts.

"You just can't fuckin' help yourself, can you?"

"Isn't she a bit young for you?"

She's talking as if I'm not even there. My dislike for her intensifying massively. I'm not sure what she's trying to pull here.

Masen's nostrils flare. "I don't see what the fuck it has to do with you," he says, stepping in front of me as if he's trying to shield me from this whole conversation.

"Tanya," Esme says, interrupting. "I don't think this is doing any good, sweetie."

Tanya's eyes are a bit watery looking, her cheeks tinged red. She looks down at the floor and then up at us both. She shrugs Esme off.

"You know what? You're an asshole."

Masen snorts. "You're embarrassing yourself."

"Carl said-"

"Shoulda known!" He throws his hands up in frustration. "_Carl_ doesn't speak for me."

She laughs bitterly and turns to me. "Remember what I said."

She's the one who gets her coat and leaves.

We end up staying, the last ones there but Masen and Carlisle are having another blistering argument in the kitchen.

Esme offers me a gin and tonic and I take a large gulp, my nerves just about shot. The only thing I think I can take away from this night is that I hate going to shit like this and I'm glad it doesn't seem to be something that happens very often.

"You are un-fucking-believable. Seriously, what shit are you tryin' to pull here?"

Carlisle mumbles something and Masen just laughs. "It's fuckin' disrespectful is what it is. You knew I was bringin' Bella and you went and invited fuckin' _Tanya_. "

He's silent.

"Just remember when you're next trying to shit stir, Carl, who saved your damn career. If it weren't for me, none of _this_ would be happenin'..."

"Have they always been like this?" I find myself asking Esme.

She smiles, but it's sad. "As long as I've known them, they're complete opposites in every way. Do you know about their Mom?"

I nod. She looks surprised.

"Well, that's something. Masen can be very closed off at times," she falters for a second and then continues. "I helped out a lot with him and his Mom, after what happened. Carlisle was in his second year of residency, you see, and just so busy. Masen was always a bit of a troublemaker but he was a sweet boy underneath it all: he was fab at sports at school. On the football and baseball teams but he changed after that, after his Mom. Started running with a bad crowd, closed himself off. It was all girls and parties and getting into fights."

"And… all of that, with Tanya?" I ask hesitantly, wondering where she fits into this picture.

"She's always been far more into him than he's ever been into her."

I find more comfort in those words then I can begin to admit.

...

Masen _is_ closed off, on the way home in the cab. I ask him what's wrong, and he says nothing, but I just know there is. He's all wrong. Not that I blame him, tonight has been interesting and awful in equal measure.

As soon as we get back to his apartment he's pressing me against the door, hands tight on my legs as they wrap around his waist. He pushes against me, already hard, mouth on my neck, marking me.

"I've been thinkin' 'bout this all night," he says as he unbuckles himself, hand pulling the tie at my waist, my dress falling open. "Jesus." He backs up, setting me on my feet, eyeing my new lingerie with a heat that licks my insides.

I drop my dress off my shoulders and lean against dark wood, biting my lip, shaking out my hair. "You bought it," I tell him. "I didn't just get the dress. Hope you don't mind."

"Fuck, no." He sinks to his knees, nudging my legs apart, moving my panties to the side and burying his face there. My hand weaving in his hair as he brings a heeled foot up to rest on his shoulder, fingers slipping inside me, tongue swirling.

"Oh, God."

...

"Wait, wait, wait," I say, breathless against him, pulling back. Masen stops, hovering over me, looking at me, tense. I cup his face, thumbs scratching along the dark shadow on his face.

He lets out a breath, hanging his head against mine. "Sorry." He kisses my nose and then my lips in apology.

"You're gonna have to talk to me. And I mean, for real, cos you can't keep using your dick and your mouth to distract me."

He hums into my skin. "I don't hear you complaining when you're callin' out my name."

I frown at him. "I don't call out your name."

"Sure you do. You say 'oh, God' all the time."

I smack him lightly on the arm and roll my eyes as he laughs, shifting so I'm sitting with my back against the headboard and he's right beside me. He switches on the TV to mindless repeats of _Friends_.

"Last night. Fuckin' disaster, right?" he says eventually, somberly. "Surprised you ain't runnin' for the hills. I keep thinkin' you might."

I shrug. "Depends on what you're comparing it to." I smile and he laughs again, breaking the tension in his face.

"So…" I begin. "Your brother..."

"No fuckin' saint." Masen chuckles darkly. His face falls into seriousness. "He made a big mistake—a few years ago. He was facin' a lawsuit, losing his medical license and I... I made that shit go away. He begged me to. I felt like it might make up for me not doin' more for my Mom; in his eyes anyway. But apparently not. Then there's my Mom, he won't listen to me ever… cos he's the doctor, he's the smart one..." he trails off making a face.

"He should listen to you if you're worried. I mean, that's a huge thing you did for him."

"He won't, he's too arrogant. Sometimes I wish he had taken the fall, y'know? But he's my brother at the end of the day. Family."

I lay my head on his bare shoulder, watching Joey and Chandler sitting in their matching BarcaLoungers.

"And… Tanya?" I hesitate but I need to know.

He grimaces, much like when I asked him about Kate.

"We were off and on for a while," he admits but there's a reluctance there.

"OK."

There's a whole lot of history there that I can't possibly compare to. Rationality wars with jealousy. If they were off and on, that means one of them kept going back and I don't really feel like being an interlude.

"Did you love her?" I wonder out loud, unable to help myself, unable to gauge the seriousness.

He's shaking his head. "It was never like that for me. She always wanted more. I made it clear I didn't. I mean, she don't know anythin' 'bout anything."

The implication is there. _More_. A relationship. Marriage, kids, maybe. It strikes me she must have really liked him if she stuck around.

"What did she say to you?" he asks quietly, brushing hair off my face.

"Does it matter?"

"Yeah."

"She said it won't last. This." I gesture between us. "That you don't _do_ relationships."

I study him closely as I say it, but he's a mask of indifference until he speaks; and when he does, he's being frank.

"Not with her."

"But you do with me?" I don't look at him when I say this. I don't know what's different for him, with me.

"Uh-huh," he turns and kisses my neck, a thumb finding the underside of one of my boobs, stroking the curve of soft flesh.

I can't help but blurt out what's still bothering me, either. "I still don't really get you not callin'. Even if you thought it was too soon, we could've just... been friends. You checked in on me, before that night all the time, and to go from that to nothin'..."

He rubs his hand through his hair. "You gotta understand. I was away from here for a while, it was shitty fuckin' timing. I didn't have my cell most of the time. I wasn't… wasn't sure whether I was gonna come back breathin'. I figured if that happened I'd just be some guy that helped you out a couple of times and you'd get on with life."

He's wrong on that. I don't think he could ever be 'some' guy. Not to me. Not after what he did.

"Where were you? When you were gone?" I ask, instead of telling him what I think he already knows.

His hand moves to his face, and he scrubs at it, contemplating, indecisive, until he mumbles, "fuck it," beneath his breath.

"Mexico, mostly… Colombia, little detour down to Brazil."

"So not even just outta state? Out of the country?" I ask slowly.

"Yeah. When I came back I was gonna call…. So many times I almost did… I dunno, I just didn't want to drag you down, when you had a chance of livin' a normal life. You deserved that after everything."

I frown, biting the inside of my cheek. My life has never been normal, in any sense of the word.

"You hadn't reached out either, and I guessed you wouldn't want to hear from me after a couple of months…. Maybe you didn't feel it," he carries on.

"More than a couple of times Char and Maria had to stop me drunk dialing you," I admit. "Convinced me it was on you."

"It was." His eyes flit across my face. "I fucked up bad, I know that. I'm glad you're giving me a chance though."

"Me too."

"Everything's different with you. How I feel. What I want."

He smiles lazily, fingers coming to entwine with mine, my heart swelling. I really like it when he's like this. Open and honest. He's different from who I thought he was, and not in a bad way.

Thinking about honesty, my lips twitch into a smile. "We met through work, huh? Best you could come up with?"

He tickles my sides and I shriek with laughter as he cages me in, his arms either side of me as his mouth attacks my face, peppering me with kisses.

"What was I gonna say? Some asshole sent his fuckhot girlfriend to drop off five G's and all I could think about was what she'd look like coming on my dick? When Charlotte said you were his girl I could've punched somethin'."

"And there I was, thinkin' all this time you pitied me," I sigh, looking up at him, still smiling. "When your real motivation was to get in my panties."

"Not my only motivation." He plants his lips firmly on mine. "This ain't just about fucking you silly, that's a bonus. I wanna know you."

He nudges my legs open so he can settle between them.

"You were so intimidating back then. I wanted you to want me, though. I liked you." I run a hand through his hair as he moves down, pulling the sheets down so he can kiss my belly, the scar near my hip. He smirks a little.

"I did want you."


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Our first fall out is on Valentine's Day.

It's not just one thing that tips us over the edge; Masen's moods have been unpredictable over the last few weeks. He won't talk to me about whatever it is that's bothering him though; which is part of the problem.

We go on dates, work out together in the gym downstairs in his apartment complex, we try and quit smoking, he picks me up from work, buys me stuff when he really shouldn't. He makes me happier in a way I don't think I've ever been, and when I'm not with him, I'm missing him.

Everything's good, but there's just something niggling away beneath the surface that I can't put my finger on. He says everything is fine, even though it's not. I wonder what he's holding back but then again, I hold back on a lot of stuff too.

Sometimes I just give him space. Like, days worth of space. I'll go to work, hang out with Maria and Zafrina, practice pole, avoid Paul and Jess, and occasionally catch up with Charlotte, who swore on her life she wasn't lying about anything. I gave her the benefit of the doubt because, after everything, it felt shitty not to.

Life is busy in that sense; I'm distracted when needed and lately, that's been quite a lot.

I was right about Charlotte though. Us. Our friendship not going back to normal.

Once, not even a year ago, we'd see each other every day. Now weeks pass. I try to make the effort, but everything's strained. I miss her though. I miss her and Maria and us all having fun together but I guess that's life. Things change, people move on, even though it hurts my heart to acknowledge it.

There's something else weighing heavily on my mind too. Something Carlisle said at the party that I keep rolling around in my head, mostly in the hours I wait up for Masen to come back from wherever he is—from whatever he's doing.

Nonna's assets. The house… her money.

I'm pulling out every piece of paper I have, all over the bed and I can't find anything about anything. It's pathetic and frustrating that I just can't remember, no matter how hard I try to rack my brain for it.

I sigh heavily and reach right under the bed, pulling out the blue rucksack as threadbare pink carpet digs into my knees. The envelopes are the only other place I haven't looked.

I pull out the birth and death certificates again and then there's some other things—pages from my health record with my blood type, dates of vaccinations, an outdated passport. I stare at two-year-old me, shorter dark hair tied half up with a navy bow, matching corduroy pinafore dress and a dark sleeved top, big brown innocent eyes and baby fat cheeks. It shows I traveled to Mexico, Canada, and Italy a few times, a lot of the dates when I was very little.

Then there's my fake birth certificate. My parent's names listed as Charles and Renee Swan. It's identical to my actual birth certificate when I compare them, side by side. If it's a fake, it's a very good one. Putting everything back I take the unsealed envelope, gingerly opening it. It fairs a little better than the first did.

Only one thing falls on to the bed when I upend it. A rectangular business card. Picking it up I turn it over. It's completely blank except for the words:

_In caso di pericolo chiamare Demetri._

If in danger call Demetri.

_If in danger? _

My mouth is dry. What does 'danger' even mean? I study the handwriting. It's Nonna's I think but maybe written when she was ill, smudged and unsteady.

There's a cell number, but I don't have time to dwell because there's a sharp knock at the front door. Hastily I shove everything away as fast as I can, glancing at the clock, not realizing the time. Masen's here already.

He knocks again and I grab my earrings, smoothing straight hair in the mirror before going to open the door. I hear him through it before I've even got there.

"You gonna keep me waitin' all night, Bella?"

I roll my eyes.

"No, you're just impatient, I was just tryin' to find my earrings."

I open the door holding them up as proof as if I haven't just been trying to decipher a secret part of my life he knows nothing about.

He's standing on the porch with a bouquet of flowers and a smile that makes my heart twist, guiltily. His eyes drink me in for a second, my new dress, black and slinky.

"You look stunning." He captures my mouth with his and I can't help but smile so big.

He confesses that it was his Mom who suggested the flowers, as we move back into the house.

"Apparently girls like this shit," he says with a shrug as I pull out a vase from a cupboard in the kitchen. "Who knew?"

"Your Mom sounds wise. I love them. Thank you."

"I can think of other ways of showin' my appreciation for you putting up with me," he says and there's a gleam in his dark eyes, as he pins me against the counter.

"We got reservations, right?" I smooth my hands down his shoulders.

He nods. "Yeah, at eight. New place downtown, it's supposed to be good. No time, unless we blow it off?"

"No! I wanna go. You don't even know how much I had to beg Lauren to cover my shift tonight."

Masen frowns at that. "Paul still being a dick?"

He won't say it, but he hates me working there. Because of Paul or because Alec's buying the place, I'm not too sure.

"What you gonna do? Threaten him again?"

Masen protests his innocence with raised hands, but I know better when I see the little smug look on his face.

"Don't believe you," I say, heading for the mirror, tilting my head as I put my earrings on.

He comes up behind me, nuzzling my exposed neck, trailing lingering kisses, as his hands slide around me.

"You gonna be mad if I said I did? I don't like the prick."

I shrug. "No, but I did tell you not to. I really need this job. I could've handled Paul without you."

"That why he was all over you that night? That you 'handling' it?"

"Maybe I liked it," I turn to him, challenging, eyebrow raised.

"You didn't."

"No," I sigh, conceding. "I didn't."

…

The restaurant we're eating in is expensive, I know it from the tiny portion sizes and the wine menu alone. Masen isn't bothered, even though it makes me wince when I see the prices.

Our waitress is almost too attentive, eyeing Masen up like he's a snack. Not that I blame her because he's looking sharp, tight crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He pays her no attention and I'm grateful for that.

I like the way he listens to what I'm talking about. I like the way he looks at me, eyes drifting down to my tits every now and then. He catches himself and his eyes will snap to mine guiltily, but then his lazy smile will spread and his face is full of that look he gives me that makes my pulse quicken and my tummy flip.

Everything is lovely, really fucking lovely, until his phone rings. It buzzes ominously in his pocket, and he ignores it. But the second time, he's apologizing to me and standing up.

"This better be fuckin' good," I hear him say as he walks away, towards the night outside.

I'm left alone to simmer, because I know exactly what's going to happen.

I twirl the wine glass in my fingers, draining it and accepting a top-up when the waitress sees I need more. She smiles almost in sympathy. I kind of want to ask her whether she sees it a lot; men disappearing on their wives or girlfriends. I wonder how many of them disappear because they have a bit on the side. Not that I think Masen does, but that's what it probably looks like to her.

When Masen comes back he's agitated, already opening his mouth and I'm already over it.

"Bella," he says and I scowl at him, knowing exactly what's coming. "I'm sorry," he says, "I gotta go. I'll drop you off at mine first. It's important."

"More important than me?" I throw it out there, my words quiet and childish.

He doesn't answer and I raise my hands, disappointment and the sting of rejection everywhere. "You know what, whatever. Let's go."

The waitress isn't all that surprised we're leaving as Masen grabs the check, telling her it's a family emergency. She just nods, as disbelieving as I feel. She offers me a small smile and I think I can forgive her for eye-fucking him earlier.

The ride to his place is unbearably quiet.

"You know I'd rather be with you," he says eventually, touching my hand before I get out of the car as he parks kerbside. He gives me his keys. I hold back tears.

"Later," I say as I get out the car, heels clattering on the sidewalk, slamming the door. I don't even kiss him bye. I dive into the warmth of the foyer of his building hearing the car still idling outside. He doesn't leave until I'm inside, past the concierge who says a polite 'evening', and it's only then I hear his car roar off into the night.

I pour myself more wine from a cheap bottle from the fridge, sitting and smoking in the dark watching crap, texting Maria my frustration until my fingers hurt.

My thoughts drift to earlier. _Danger_. _Demitri_. I wish I'd programmed the number in my phone now, I want to see what happens if I ring it. But I didn't, so I can't.

And then I think about Nonna's assets. The only person who was there was James. And I can hardly ask him; locked up, awaiting trial. His trial date is yet to be released but Detective Hale says soon, and the DA wants me as a witness. I haven't said yes, yet. They want to press charges against him, but I'm not sure I want to go through that either. The whole thing is red flag central. If the cops discover I'm not who I am, I'm fucked.

Instead, I try not to think about it, it just stresses me out and makes my nightmares more unbearable when I do. Masen tries to coax things out of me sometimes but I tell him I don't want to talk about it either.

Eventually, I give up waiting for him, taking everything off except my panties and find one of his t-shirts to wear to bed.

I go to sleep face buried in his pillow.

Wishing he was here.

Angry that he's not.

...

I'm woken by a discord of hushed voices, the sound of a door slamming against a wall. My eyes adjust slowly to the dark, then I'm leaping out of bed, a jolt of adrenaline surging through me. I peer around the door, rubbing my eyes, hoping it isn't anyone breaking in.

My relief when I see it's Masen, Alec, and Ben is short-lived, eyes widening when I see the state of them. Bloody, sweaty, dishevelled. Alec and Masen propping Ben up; the sleeve of his left arm completely drenched in dark red blood.

I close the bedroom door softly behind me, bare feet on warm wood, moving swiftly to Masen's bigger bathroom, searching out the first aid kit.

They're putting Ben on a dining chair when I walk over with it. He moans and grimaces in pain.

"Fuckin' bastards," he swears. "If we—"

"Shut it!" Masen growls at him, eyes snapping to me, a guardedness there. "Go back to bed." He's not asking me, he's telling me.

"Don't tell me what to do," I snap at him, irritated. I place the first aid kit down and bite my lip, hesitating. "I can… I can help. I can do something," I offer, glancing at Ben who's got his eyes closed, nose screwed up in pain.

Masen turns to me sharply, hands bloodied, mouth set in a grim line. He looks like he's about to bite my head off. I flinch, stepping away from him on reflex.

"Fuck. Bella, no." His posture changes, shoulders dropping, face relaxing. I take a breath. He isn't James. He isn't. His eyes are on me but I can't meet them.

"She wants to help, let her help," Alec says, rolling up his sleeves as he washes blood from his hands in the kitchen sink.

Masen nods tersely and follows suit before yanking open the fridge, pulling out a bottle of vodka and twisting the cap off, shoving it at Ben who snatches it out of his hand, chugging it, grimacing, then groaning.

"Fuckin' hell."

They ease Ben's shirt off him, leaving him naked from the waist up, his belly hanging over the top of his dark pants. He looks at his arm and loses the little color left in his face.

Finding gloves and saline, I move a chair closer to him so I can sit and examine his arm, suddenly self-conscious they're all watching me; mostly because I'm braless and in a t-shirt that skims my ass. That feeling quickly disappears when I realize what I'm looking at.

"He got shot?"

I look between all of them.

There's just silence, looks passing between them but none of them saying a word.

I sigh, looking back at the wound where the bullet is lodged in his upper arm. He's lucky it hit muscle. "Whatever."

"Gonna be a bastard to get out," Alec murmurs. "Knife'll be too messy."

"Just fuckin' get it out!" Ben snarls, tipping back the vodka bottle again and swallowing large gulps, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Tweezers might work. I've got some."

Ben points one finger at me, his others firmly gripping the vodka bottle. "She can do it."

I'm methodical lining up what I need, mopping up the blood so I can see more. As soon as I probe with the tweezers he's howling, a string of curse words flying from his mouth.

"Stop moving!" I tell him, on my second attempt as he flinches, reprimanding him like he's a child. "It's only gonna take longer."

He stills but shies away again before I've even got close.

"For fuck's sake!" I throw my hands up. "Stop being such a pussy and sit fucking still."

Alec lets out a bark of a laugh.

"It fuckin' hurts! If you'd been shot, you'd be the fuckin' same!" he gripes. "But shit, talk dirty to me again."

I stop and sit back, unimpressed, stopping myself from blurting out the fact I _have_ been shot. "You want me to take this out or not? Cos I can let one of these two take over. I'm sure they'll be _real_ delicate."

He shakes his head muttering an apology.

"You're gonna have to hold him down," I round on Masen and Alec. "No way can I get it out if he's pulling that shit."

Masen grabs Ben's bad arm, holding him tight, Alec stuffing a tea towel in his mouth, before bracing his other side.

"One, two…" I don't wait for three and plunge the tweezers in, ignoring the guttural sounds Ben is making. The blood makes it slippery to get, but when I'm sure I've got a firm grip, I slowly extract it, metal chinking as I drop it into the bowl of water.

The wound is deep, blood trickling down his arm onto the floor. I douse it in vodka causing Ben to cry out again, stamping his foot on the floor.

"Fuckin' bitch!"

"Watch your mouth!" Masen growls.

I ignore Ben, packing the wound tightly with gauze and padding, bandaging it as firmly as I can. I'm not sure whether it'll do the job though.

"He should go to a hospital," I say, peeling gloves off, wrinkling my nose at the latex smell.

"No hospitals," Alec says sharply.

"Your brother?" I ask Masen.

He shakes his head too.

"Thanks. Sorry for calling you a bitch," Ben mutters to me as I get up.

"Not the worst thing I've been called," I say, walking away.

"She's alright, ain't she? Ride or die material right there," I hear Ben say to Masen when I'm in the kitchen, throwing the gloves and bloodied cotton balls away. I look up briefly, Masen not responding, staring hard at something.

I get the overwhelming feeling he wishes I was still in his bed, asleep, not involving myself. It doesn't stop him from coming up behind me, as I'm washing my hands over and over again, kissing my temple, hands on my hips, whispering a thank you in my ear. I pull away from him, out of his grip.

All the anger at him for disappearing earlier comes back. I tell him I'm going back to bed, closing the bedroom door a little harder than necessary when I do.

I drift in and out of sleep listening to the rumble of low voices, but I'm awake when he comes in. He's showered in the main bathroom, I can tell by the scent of the shower gel he brings into the room. The bed dips with his weight, the warmth from his body radiating against mine as he kisses bare skin on my shoulder. I shrug him off me, still pissed off.

"Bella," he sighs, "c'mon don't be like this. What's the matter? You mad at me? Huh?"

Another slow gentle kiss to my neck.

"Talk to me," he pleads after a minute.

I turn to him. I can't see his expression, just the shadowy outline of his face from the glow of streetlights way down below.

"What if it were you?" I say my voice wavering.

"It won't be," he says automatically.

"We both know that you can't promise that; so don't lie to me. I'm not an idiot."

He's quiet, but he brings my leg over his hip so we're closer, his thumb rubbing circles on the bare skin of my thigh.

"I worry that one day you're not going to come back at all," I admit to the dark. "And the fact I don't seem to matter as much to you, as doin' whatever it is you do."

"You do matter," he says fiercely. "You do. I fuckin'... I hated leaving you tonight. I hated it. But I gotta do things. You gotta understand that this is what I meant. I can't give you normal, Bella. I told you that."

Normal? I don't even know what that is.

"So it's always gonna come first? You don't even tell me what you do… where you go…"

He shakes his head. "You're better off not knowing. If I—If I went down, you're not an accessory to anythin' that way. Fuck, Bella. I—"

His fingers trace patterns on my hip before he flattens his hand, sliding it down to squeeze my ass as he struggles to say anything.

"I'll always try to come back to you in one piece."

"Just that you'll try? Why can't you stop? Am I—am I always going to have to worry?" I sniff, suddenly feeling tearful.

A tear drips onto the pillow.

"Don't cry," he says, "Not because of me." He wipes it away and kisses me deeply.

It's an 'I'm sorry kiss,' an apology. It's a 'sorry kiss' until it's an 'I want you kiss,' until it's heated and I'm moaning into his mouth and he's hard against me.

"I worry about you," I whisper.

"I know," he swallows. "I'm sorry. I wish it was different. You don't know how much."

I push against him, desperate for friction, desperate for him to tell me how he feels, about me, about us.

"Bella," he says warningly.

"Please." I roll my hips.

He never can say no. He hooks thumbs into my panties, dragging them down my legs, groaning about how wet I am for him. He slides his dick up and down my pussy until he's coated, and then he's pushing inside, pushing me down onto him, hands firm on my hips. He rolls us so I'm underneath him, and he's moving slow, kissing my eyelids, the corners of my mouth, my cheeks. I want to be closer, wrapping my legs around him, heels in his back urging him closer. It's never enough, even when he's buried to the point it hurts and I feel everything.

"You're gonna have to be quiet," he warns. "They're crashin' on the couch."

"Don't care," I say breathlessly, needy.

"I do."

It's almost a challenge, as he fucks me harder and I'm biting down on his neck to keep from crying out. He's whispering things into my ear. How good I feel, how much he always wants me... I don't hear the rest, taken away by my own moans.

"God, I love your cock," I groan into his ear, as we shift so he's sitting up, me on top. He's moving my body over him when I can't anymore, boneless, breathless, thighs burning.

He moves us again, my legs over his shoulders, fingers coming to circle my clit. I bite down on my hand as he moves, harder, faster when I beg him.

"Fuck," he pants as I come, his hand slamming into the headboard, his eyes squeezed tight, his lips parted as his movements slow to jerks.

"You drive me so fuckin' crazy," he murmurs after, pulling me close, my legs shaky. "We'll go out again tomorrow. Just... don't be mad, B. I don't like you bein' mad at me. I'm sorry."

"Me too."


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Maria asks for the millionth time.

I stare at the bleak facade in front of us and I've never felt less like wanting to do something. Weeks have flown by, we're coming up to April and I've been thinking this over for too long.

James' trial is soon and then he might be shipped out elsewhere.

"It's now or never."

I get out of the car before I can run away; alternating waves of apprehension, nausea, and guilt washing over me. I think Masen would flip his shit if he knew I was here, so I haven't said anything to him, even though I've been planning this for weeks. I feel bad, but he's been even more evasive than usual just recently.

My gut tells me it's all wrong; a relationship built on dishonesty, but it's always going to be like this because the truth for me is too dangerous to admit, or so Nonna insisted.

I can hear her now. _"Some people would give anything to have you dead, Isabella._"

It makes me think of the number now programmed into my phone, the one I need to call if I'm in danger. Demetri. Whoever he is. I tried ringing it, a few days ago, curiosity getting the better of me but it rang out.

I huff.

I guess it'd be like this with anyone. The secrets. The lies.

But I think I love him.

I haven't said it, but I think it.

I feel it.

I'm just not sure he feels the same.

...

I'm shaking with nerves all the way through security, and it only gets worse as groups of us are escorted into a large clinical room, Formica tables and plastic chairs set out, guards posted around, looking us over with dulled interest. A lady moves past me as I pause in the doorway, apologizing in Spanish.

I take a seat, near a guard, gripping the edges too hard.

And then I wait, staring out the barred window to barbed wire-topped fences in the distance.

I find myself thinking how surreal it is, like I'm on an episode of _Criminal Minds_ or something, but no, this is my actual life and although Papà has been in prison most of it, I've never visited him.

I'm thinking about why that is when I hear the noise intensify in the room as people get up and greet each other with hugs and hellos and happy faces.

There's a slow shuffle and tap getting closer and the feeling of dread in my stomach intensifies.

He sits down in front of me, brown-grey prison uniform on, slumping in his seat, propping a cane against the table. Detective Hale told me about that, he can't walk properly after Masen blew his knee out.

When I finally look up at him, he's smirking just the same. I wring my hands underneath the table nervously as he stares.

"You always come back, don't you," he drawls, leaning forwards. I jerk back, pushing my chair back slightly, the guard behind him shifting slightly, watching closely.

It doesn't make me feel any better.

I breathe out slowly, heart racing. No matter how much I've practiced getting what I want to say out, actually doing it whilst he's here, in front of me, makes the words stick in my throat.

I wanted to be strong and brave and show him how much better I am now he's not in my life.

But I'm a mess right now.

He laughs, impatient.

"Why you here, B?"

He folds his arms and leans back again, eyes flitting everywhere. "That motherfucker got sick of your shit too?"

I take a breath.

"No."

He scoffs.

"They want me to press charges."

He stares me down, bored almost.

"For what?"

"You know what for."

He laughs humorlessly.

"And what? You gonna? I'm already lookin' at twenty years, B. What's a few more for puttin' you in your place?"

I shake my head. "You really don't care do you?"

He rubs a hand down his face, his jaw set, his teeth gritted. "If I didn't care I would've let you go, B. Maybe I cared too much. Maybe you're just seein' it all wrong."

I close my eyes. And still, he's playing a game. I can see that, now. I wonder how I could've ever been so blind. "No. I'm not…"

There's a painful silence.

"A gambling problem?" I ask, eventually, the words clumsy in my mouth. "What else didn't I know about?"

He shrugs. "It was nothing. I sorted it. Shit hit the fan a little bit, yeah, with Alec. I was in a tight spot. It got sorted though. I won. Big time."

"But you took loans and credit cards out in my name, is that what that was? That what you used the money for?" My voice shakes.

"I'd have paid them off," he sneers, "if you hadn't flipped out. It was a short-term thing. But, nah. I send you to do one job and you end up on your back for that motherfucker."

"I never cheated on you," I intone. "Never. Nothin' happened until after."

James' face twists, leaning forward. "You really expect me to believe that after what he did? Blowing out my knee… months of rehab, you don't pull that shit unless you're in deep. Does he even know you're here?"

I choose not to answer that. "You came after me with a knife!"

He just smiles.

We're quiet then and I try to collect myself. "I… I came here cos I need to know what happened to my Grandma's house, her money, after—after she died… I can't remember, and you were there. I can't even remember what law firm dealt with it all."

He says nothing.

I wait silently. Hoping he'll tell me.

He doesn't.

It's almost as if he's enjoying it, a knowing smirk curling on his lips.

"This was a waste of my time," I murmur to myself more than to him. I look at him, completely void of any other feeling than frustration. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't let them pin you for all the shit you did to me, all those times you lost your temper and hurt me, that time you—you forced me to—to... do you even remember? I was such an idiot. They got photos. Evidence."

Still, he says nothing, just shaking his head and staring at the wall over my shoulder. Anger finally lets out. "Y'know what? You're a pathetic piece of shit. Masen is ten times the man you'll ever be."

For some reason, this is what sets him off. Whether it's because I'm telling him what I really think after so many years of holding my tongue, or the fact that he doesn't like being inferior to Masen, I'm not sure. Maybe it's both. He bangs his fist on the table and lunges as my breath leaves my lungs. My chair slides back with a screech, the guard is on him before I can even blink, slamming his head onto the table, arm twisted behind his back. He's still struggling against him though.

"Fuck you, you little bitch! I shoulda killed you when I had the chance—" I shrink away, another guard stepping in front of me, pulling me up and away, more guards coming into help as he rages.

"You fuckin' tell them, B, huh? You tell 'em I raped you I'll tell 'em you fuckin' love it rough. I'll tell them all the things you used to love doin'."

He's hauled away to the side, spitting mad. The room so quiet, a pin could drop and you'd hear it. I can feel eyes, hundreds of them, and the heat of shame all over me.

A soft hand on my shoulder, a kind voice coaxing me away, out of the room, my head down looking at my ballet flats, tears streaking down my face.

I glance up briefly as I wipe them away and as I do I see someone a lot like me.

He's sat on the other side of the room, a dark-haired man sat with him.

I'm pretty sure I'd never recognize him. But he's an older replica of the man in my photo album.

At least I think in that moment that's who I see.

I'm pulled out of the room before I can even do a double-take, but when I do eventually look back, he's staring at James and then at me, a blank expression on his face.

Then I realize maybe he doesn't recognize me.

He wouldn't know what I look like.

…

I'm quiet on the way home in Maria's car and later, when Masen phones I ignore it, letting it buzz on my bedside table until it stops. It starts vibrating again, but I let it ring out, feeling too guilty.

My mind is working over every little thing. I should've known trying to get James to talk would be a bad idea. He's unnerved me. I thought maybe prison, having a kneecap blown out… _something_ would've forced some humility into him, but if anything it's exacerbated his bitterness.

He's still the twisted man in my nightmares. And I still can't bridge that with that boy in Phoenix, that chased me at the lakes. And then I think, maybe it's me. Maybe I did that to him. Maybe I was the toxic element that tainted him. Maybe that's what I'm doing to Masen.

I flop back onto the bed and close my eyes, exhausted, drifting off into an uneasy sleep. When I wake up, I cry and I can't stop. Maria comes and checks on me but I can barely talk because everything is just too much. Too fucking much.

All the secrets. All the lies. All the memories. They're eating me up and tearing me apart, splitting me open at the seams. I ache. For everything I never had, for everything I ever knew, for every lie that I've ever told. It's consuming me in the worst way. My whole existence built on lies and I can't fucking stand it.

I hear muffled voices later outside my door.

"She's been like this for hours. Sorry, I didn't know who else to call."

"What happened?" Masen says, voice gravelly.

"Look just, don't judge her. OK?" Maria's whispering, pleading for me. I squeeze my eyes shut, heart hammering. He's not going to understand. I know that already.

"What happened?" he repeats more urgently.

"I… I took her to see, um. To see James. She had some stuff she wanted to ask him. I—I don't think it went well. Obviously."

I stop breathing, listening. I hear a noise, a lot like a fist knocking on the wall.

"What _stuff_? Why the _fuck_ would she do that?" Disbelief laces his voice and I can't even blame him.

"I dunno. Bella gets these ideas in her head and she fixates. You gotta notice that. I always thought she thought she deserved what he did to her, y'know? You can't blame her for wanting answers, especially about the money. She's gonna be payin' it off for years."

My stomach drops.

"Paying off _what_ money?" Masen asks, his voice rough.

"She didn't tell you?" Maria murmurs. "Fuck. I didn't- I didn't know you didn't know. Look, just go easy on her, please? I mean are you twos even OK? She said you've been distant recently?"

He lets out a noise between a tsk and a laugh. "I thought so. Now I ain't sure. I've had a lot goin' on. Thanks for callin'."

I hear the door open, my eyes not leaving the floral wallpaper opposite until he bobs down in front of me, running a hand through my hair, his touch instantly comforting. Tears cloud my eyes and he's there lifting me so he's under me, pulling me to him so I'm wrapped around him, face crushed into his neck, his back against the wall.

"Why would you do that to yourself?" he murmurs. I just shake my head into him.

"Don't. I know, it was stupid." I sniff.

He pulls back cupping my face, brushing away my tears from swollen, puffy eyes.

"Help me understand where your head's at Bella, cos I'm—I don't understand your logic here."

I'm quiet. Confessions in my chest, ready to burst out when I open my mouth, so it stays stuck closed.

He lets out a breath, a small humorless laugh. "What I see? I see you goin' back to him again, and for what? Huh?"

He's quiet for a long time.

"Do you still love him?" he asks and there's genuine doubt there and I wonder how he can even ask me that.

"I _hate_ him." My voice is hoarse and scratchy, a fresh round of tears filling my eyes."You don't even know—" I stop, a tear falling down my cheek, my lip quivering.

I want to tell _him_ I love him but this—this really isn't the moment. I squeeze my eyes shut.

"I just—I just wanted answers." And even now out loud it sounds pathetic. Masen looks like that's what he wants to tell me but instead, he just asks:

"To _what_?"

"You don't—you don't understand." I croak.

"Then explain it to me, Bella. Cos you won't open up to me about _any_ of it."

I speak after minutes of silence.

"He would—would twist stuff, all the time. Make me doubt myself. Make me feel like things were all in my head like I was the one bein' unreasonable or taking things wrong all the time. Everything was always my fault. If anything went wrong, if a guy looked at me… He was the one who wanted to come _here_. My Grandma was barely cold, and he was shoving me on a Greyhound, promising all this and all that and none of it was true. He was givin' me a shitload of pills and I can't—can't remember. I can't remember what happened to her house or her money or anything."

I take a large gulp of air, rubbing at my face. "I only left him cos he'd taken out a heap of loans in my name," I confess, quietly. "I didn't know, but it was… I'd not gone back, after you dropped me off, after that morning at the pier but he begged. Like _begged_ me to and I thought maybe this time, maybe giving him a few days where he couldn't find me would… I dunno. Make him change. And then I found out what he'd done. I don't even know what he did with all of it."

Masen mutters something that sounds like 'motherfucker,' jaw jutting out as he looks away his whole body tensing underneath me.

"How much?" I hang my head. It's kind of mortifying. "How much, Bella?"

My cheeks puff out and I take a breath. Baby steps, a band-aid being ripped off.

I don't look at him when I tell him it was pretty much fifty thousand dollars; but when I do, his face is thunderous.

"Why didn't you say?" He moves me off him, so he's standing up. "Why didn't you tell me before?" It's demanding and accusing. I don't have an answer for him, not really. The only word on the tip of my tongue is 'shame.'

"Is that why you work all hours at the club, cos you're broke, payin' off loans he should've paid? Jesus fuckin' Christ, Bella." He's fisting his hair. Then. "I'll pay them off."

I startle.

"What? No. You can't do that. _I'm_ paying it off. I can't—_you_ can't."

"I can and I am. You're not puttin' your life on hold because of him any longer. Why the fuck didn't you tell me? Don't you trust me?"

"I don't trust anyone." It falls from my mouth reactively; impacting like a bomb. Hurtful. Explosive. I bring my fingers to my mouth.

He gazes at me for a moment before looking away, at the floor.

"I want to. I want to so bad. But I—there's so much I wish I could tell you. So much. But I can't." Fresh tears track down my cheeks as I sniff. "It's not fair. I never—I never asked for any of this shit." I'm properly crying now, I reach out for his hand but he doesn't take it and that makes me sob harder.

He sits heavily on the bed, arms resting on his knees, chin on laced hands. He doesn't look at me when he speaks.

"I'll pay that money off, that's non-negotiable. I'm gonna put you through—through therapy or somethin'... If you can't talk to me… if you don't trust me…" He's in despair. "We can't do us if there's no trust here."

"You hide shit too!" Anger bubbles up. "It's not just me. You disappear. Sometimes for days, and you come back hurt or distant and you don't tell me fuck all. You just expect me to be OK with that."

"It's different," he snaps. "That shit I do, you're better off not knowin', I told you that before. I don't want your view of me to be tainted by that. How many times have we had this fuckin' conversation?"

"And there's stuff I can't give you either! It's one rule for you and another for me? You're such a fucking hypocrite. You're expecting me to tell you everything when you tell me nothing. How's that fair?"

"Is it really that bad? Really, Bella? What could _you_ have to hide that's so bad, huh? So fucking terrible you can't even tell _me_? That you don't trust _me_. After everything."

My mouth dries. He sounds like James. I close my eyes and shake it off.

"Don't say shit like that. You sound just like _him_. Just like him! Like somehow everything you've done for me somehow gives you both the right to use it as leverage to get what you want!" I tremble, my voice cracks, tearfully. "I didn't ask you to. I was doing just fine before you showed back up."

His eyes are downcast and when he doesn't say anything I tip the scales.

"What's the fucking point in this!?" The words fly out of my mouth, "Why the fuck are we even together?"

I want him to say something. Anything.

I want him to tell me I'm wrong.

But he doesn't.

"I don't know."

Three words that shred my heart more than any punch ever did.

"So that's it, over just like that?" I ask him incredulously, feeling hot and cold and sick all at once. He's not even going to try. He's not even going to try and convince me otherwise.

He turns to me and there's a defeatedness there, that makes my tears fall harder. And when his lips meet mine, it's sweet and salty, so full of longing and want and regret.

He pulls back, putting his hands in his pockets.

"You want a truth? _I_ set him up."

"What?" I sniff, clueless.

"I set James up." He can't contain a grim smile. "Fucker deserved so much worse, but I set it all up. No way was I ever gonna let him have a chance at coming after you again after that night."

My mouth parts.

"Get out."

His words ring around my head. Everything I've been put through the last few months with the cops, all the memories I've tried to block out, the reoccurring nightmares, and it's all because he got James arrested?

"Get out!" I repeat louder.

He doesn't move, wariness there, like he wasn't expecting this. When he still doesn't move I'm on my feet, yanking my door open.

"Get the fuck out!"

He leaves.

I slam the door behind him sinking down against it.

Devastated all over again.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

He's there, but he's not.

Masen.

He paid off all the loans and credit cards, the cash finding its way to my account in the form of an "inheritance".

All complete bullshit.

I argued with him about it for days; it was mine to pay off, and mine alone, but he dug in, stubbornly, until I relented. I suspect it's washed money, but when I finally clear off the last credit card I can't bring myself to care, the relief so great I cry. Again.

It's like the last string tying James to me has been severed. The last hold he had. I'm cut loose, no longer drowning, free to float to the surface and breathe.

I thank Masen over and over, but it seems pathetic, how big his gesture is and how small and insignificant those two words can feel when you have nothing else to give.

He says it's just money, but it's not.

It's freedom, for me.

I talk to him a little every week on the phone after that. It's stilted and awkward as I ramble on nervously. He listens quietly and I can't read him at all. Sometimes it just feels like I'm talking to myself.

I haven't physically seen him since we sort of ended things and that was more than a month ago. We haven't really talked about that at all, but the ache I feel is ever-present; in my heart and my head and every little thing that reminds me of him.

I miss him.

And it hurts.

And a lot of the time it's all I think about.

We let our relationship go easily, as if nothing mattered - as if everything was nothing at all. But it did. It was.

I replay things said in the heat of the moment over and over; things that I wish I hadn't said, and then I think of all those things that I never got to say to him at all.

But, life goes on.

I still go to work, I still practice pole with Maria, I find an actual yoga class to go to since my money isn't all tied to debts and make friends with a girl named Alice. We go for coffee and to the cinema. She's nice and normal and that makes me feel nice and normal.

I meet up with Charlotte and Petey and their happiness stabs me in my chest; the longing for things I had for a little while making my heart pang. Things are moving fast for them; they're getting a place together. I tell them I'm happy for them even though it feels hollow. I don't tell Maria. I think she knows I still talk to Charlotte but we don't bring it up, it's easier not to. She's seeing Alec every chance she can get right now though, so it's not as if she isn't moving on.

Sometimes I see Alec and Ben at the club but Masen's never there with them… because of me, I'm not sure. I don't ask, even though I want to know; where is he? Why isn't he here? They acknowledge me in passing but they mostly steer clear. I wonder what they think is going on. Not that they'd care, really.

It's living.

I'm living.

But not in a way I know.

…

"How do you feel about that?"

I stare at Irina. At her icy blonde-grey hair and her thick-rimmed purple glasses. She's looking at me expectantly, berry lips pursed. My eyes drift around her office to the fish tank behind her and I watch the little fishes dart around, fins fluttering like material in a soft breeze.

How do I feel?

"Terrified. Weak."

She's talking about my reasoning for not pressing charges against James.

I've been seeing her for over a month now. I protested because shit like therapy isn't fucking cheap, but Masen wasn't having any of that either.

His words echo around my head, fiercely.

_You need to talk to someone, Bella. If not me, then someone who's gonna help you deal with shit, cos fuck knows you need it_.

I gave in but I refused to let him pay for it all like he wanted to. For my own dignity, I needed to pay what I could. So I do just that and he puts in the rest. Otherwise, he doesn't interfere.

I'm basically broken, and he wants me to be fixed, but I'm not sure whether I can be. Irina says trauma will leave a scar and just because I can't remember stuff, like what happened that night my Mamma was killed, doesn't mean that it's never affected me. She thinks it will have had a profound impact.

I didn't like the first therapist I saw; he was too clinical; I felt judgement in his eyes, but I kinda like Irina, she's kooky and she gets it. Me.

James' trial is about to start and the DA is still wanting to add the domestic violence charges to his rap sheet. I won't have to stand up in court, but they'll read my evidence out. Those photos Charlotte took of me would be shown.

"Why would it make you weak?"

"Because it's exposing all these—all these _flaws_ that allowed me to get treated like that in the first place. It shows my weaknesses. It's embarrassing. That's how I feel. Ashamed."

"Or, maybe it shows everyone how strong you are. How brave you are… to be here, pursuing justice, getting him to face up to his actions, because you're here, Bella. And you're living, despite it all. That's something to be proud of; not ashamed."

I'm quiet.

"Do you think I should go through with it? Like, seriously?"

"It doesn't matter what I think. It's what you think. What you feel. How long do you have to decide?"

I chew my lower lip, my tongue darting out to wet it. "'Til midday on Thursday."

She nods. "You'll make the right decision for you, Bella. You just have to remember that you were wronged, not him. Being a victim doesn't make you weak. It makes you a survivor, and survivors are strong. _You_ are strong."

I don't feel strong.

Not one little bit.

…

Sitting on the bathroom floor, hand curling into the shaggy pink bathmat, the shower drips in a 'yes/no' debate. My finger hovers over the call button. When it lands on a 'yes' drip and doesn't drip again, I take it as a sign from the universe.

I press call with only five minutes to spare.

"OK." I swallow, body trembling. "OK. Do it."

...

Masen's waiting for me after work, casually leant against a new black beamer across the street. He looks tired and unhappy, but he manages a small smile when he sees me, straightening out.

The sky is pastel pink and orange, casting everything in a warm glow, promising something like summer heat later on.

I say bye to Maria and Zafrina as I walk down the steps, almost a little too giddy to see him, my heart racing in my chest. I reached out. I asked him to be here, for me. For the trial.

There's awkwardness when I reach him, where we would have normally kissed, but I stop short and we just sort of stare at each other. His smile fades and my gut twists as his eyes find the ground. He looks as dejected as I feel, and the rush of _want _and _love_ and _need _hits me like a punch in the face because I've missed him, so, so much.

Without thinking I fling myself at him, a soft grunt leaving his mouth as I wrap my arms around his waist, hoping that he's not going to push me away. His body is tense for all of a split second before he relaxes, arms coming around me.

I inhale him deeply, that citrusy scent I love so much, the hardness of his body underneath his clothes, the comfort that being wrapped up in him always brings.

"I miss you," I confess into his chest.

His hand comes to stroke the back of my hair, the other touching the bare skin of my waist and then he plants a soft kiss to the top of my head. "Fuckin' same," he murmurs. I hug him a little harder, relieved he feels the same.

"You ready for Monday?" he asks when I'm settled in new black leather, fiddling with the laces that criss-cross over the splits in my skirt,

I shake my head, still uneasy with his involvement in setting James up. Did he deserve it; yes. Does it make it morally right? I don't know.

He explained properly when I'd calmed down, when I wanted to know more. James was the one who went for it. Agreed to bring in the drugs across state lines. All Masen did was dangle the bait and anonymously tip off the cops. James didn't know it was him, it was all very underhand, done through associates. He might've been caught anyway. Masen didn't _make_ him do anything.

And he set it all up for me, to keep me safe.

I think I know now what Alec meant when he said 'all out', now and I can't get my head around why he'd do all that for me.

But am I ready?

"No. I'm not," I answer him honestly. I'm not ready for him to hear about everything either, every facet of James and me. "But I just... I want it over and done with now. This has been draggin' on for too long." I sigh and lean my head against the window of his car, the vibrations making my teeth rattle. When I look over at him, he's looking sorry, he says it too, heartfelt.

"What happened to the Mustang?" I ask, curious, changing the subject.

"Felt like a change," he responds, like it's no big deal.

He drives us to Maria's. It's almost like visiting the scene of a crime; the last time he was here was a bloodbath of feelings. It wasn't pretty. It's where our relationship flatlined. This, though. Him being here with me right now feels like the start of resuscitation.

He's cautious stepping into my room, but it's not like what it was. I've decorated. Painted over the horrible floral wallpaper in white, hung up calming pictures of abstract flowers. I bought a desk so I can write in the journal that Irina asked me to keep and study for my GED. I'm making progress and I want him to see that.

He picks up my journal but doesn't open it.

"I know, it's very teen girl but Irina insisted, so I don't forget things that I need to talk to her about. You can look at it but it's kinda depressing."

"You said you like her though?"

"She's… like, it's creepy how well she just gets things. I didn't like it at first but she's helped me work on my shit so… she helped me write my statement actually. It'd have been all over the place if she hadn't."

He puts it down gently and then stares at a photo of me and him I have pinned on the noticeboard. We're in bed and he's looking at me like I've hung the moon. I'm laughing, happy. Truly happy. It's grainy, and a little blurred but I like it.

A flush creeps onto my cheeks, embarrassed that I have it up when we're not even together anymore.

"I don't think I ever told you cus I'm - well, like- I just, I keep things inside. Out of habit cus he'd just… tear me down, use it against me." I'm cringing at myself but I take a deep breath anyway. "But I just want you to know that you made me really happy and I..."

I trail off already berating myself for opening my mouth.

Irina has talked me through what she thinks my issues are. I'm emotionally guarded, I have intrusive thoughts, my anxiety manifests itself in different ways; mood swings, disassociation, avoidance. There's other things she's mentioned: post-traumatic stress disorder; panic disorder, things that I don't want to be labelled as.

And I'm trying; trying to understand these things, trying to talk through difficult memories; trying to change the way I think because those are labels I don't want. And I want to be better not just for me, but for him.

"I want that again, with you." His eyes meet mine and I think I stop breathing. I hesitate, even though I want nothing more than just that.

"You might—" I stop, finding it difficult to find the right words. "There's stuff I worry will make you look at me differently. That might come out, this week." I bite my lip feeling wobbly.

"Nothin' would make me look at you differently, Bella."

"But you don't—"

He's over to me then, cradling my face, his hands warm on my cheeks.

"Literally, nothing."

He says it like he means it. He kisses my forehead and I rest my head against him for a second before pulling back.

"I really hope you mean that."

…

He sleeps over for the first time in forever, his weight next to me, holding me close and I love it. I love him. I shimmy closer to him and he groans sleepily.

"You carry on wriggling your ass on my dick we're gonna have a big problem," he murmurs.

"Big?" I tease.

He growls, lips against the back of my neck, tingles all down my spine. "You know it."

...

Sitting at the back of the public gallery, hidden, I squeeze Masen's hand with my own clammy one. He leans in and kisses my temple. These little affections are what I'm living for, I revel in each one, savoring them, initiating them when I feel brave. They make my heart skip, hopeful.

We sit through it all. Day after day after day and then the next day and the next. I'm not sure why I'm here but I feel like I need to be.

Every night Masen comes home with me and every night I sleep in his arms. We rarely talk about what went on in court. Masen reads questions aloud from mock GED tests and I try and answer; we order takeout or I cook for him and we talk; sometimes about the important things, sometimes the not so important. And we flirt, a lot. So much so, Maria pretends to throw-up, dramatic sound effects included.

"Urgh, sickening."

"Nah, sickening is having to hear you and Alec go at it," I retort. He's been over a few times recently and I've never felt so uncomfortable in my own house.

"Paybacks a bitch. But seriously, you twos are doing my head in. Just kiss and make-up already. I'm at work tonight so the house is all yours." She draws out the last part suggestively as she gets up and winks as she leaves the room.

There's an uncomfortable silence after she leaves. I don't think it's as easy as that. Just kissing and fucking and everything being OK. When I glance up from my tub of Chinese, Masen's looking at me like he wants to do just that.

"Not yet," I tell him, inspecting a spring roll. He tilts his head leaning back on his arms.

"Whenever you're ready."

I tell him I want him to hear my statement first because I don't think I could bear it if he changed his mind.

...

It's on the last day they read my words in court; they show my pictures, the damage James caused. My face black and blue and bloody, eyes swollen shut, my neck with fingerprints. I can remember the burn of trying to breathe afterwards, the time I passed out when he did it too long. It's a small snapshot; it's not all of it. It's not every single time he made me feel worthless or scared or he hurt me, physically or emotionally. But it's proof that it happened.

James gets reprimanded more than once for interrupting. He throws his hands up, he sneers and tuts and spits vitriol. He's unrepentant and I think that's the hardest thing to swallow. He's a caricature of himself, with only the ugly parts emphasised. His humanity, gone. Destroyed by… Well, I'm not sure. I'm not sure how he got so… mean. So fucked up.

The judge warns him he'll be in contempt of court if he doesn't be quiet.

The prosecutors play up my age: young, no parents, no caretaker. I was vulnerable, I was taken advantage of. Naive.

They insist that it was a "sustained campaign of coercive, controlling behavior resulting in physical violence when the victim did something you deemed her at fault for." She makes a point of telling the jury what he said, that day in the prison. "And I quote, 'Fuck you, you little bitch. I shoulda killed you when I had the chance.'"

Masen gets angrier by the second, one hand woven with mine, holding it tightly, the other curled into a fist, skin stretched white.

I stare at the floor, tracing the lines of the parquet pattern with my eyes, over and over again. I'm oddly detached, like everything that happened, happened to someone else. When they read out how he forced me to have sex, Masen is vibrating with rage. He rises from his seat, swearing, looking like he's about to leap down there and smash James' face in. I tug him back down into his seat, fury morphing into complete devastation; for me.

James calls me a liar. Says it never happened. "She still stayed,_" _he says. "She still let me fuck her_._" He tells them I had sex with him the first day we met. He says I loved it rough. Says I'd beg for it. I just took it the wrong way that time. It's what I wanted, even when I said no.

I don't realize I'm moving until I'm outside the room, my heart pounding, head dizzy, dodging through crowded corridors until I'm out in the open air, fresh air filling my lungs. I'm panicking, memories hitting me like an unrelenting wall.

Masen finds me in the park across the street, by the pond, hands resting on the black metal fence, the sun shining warm on the tops of my shoulders, trying to stop the panic from engulfing me.

Maybe I should've told him what was in there before, but I couldn't. I could barely write it. It was supposed to be therapeutic in itself, Irina had said, and I guess it was. I felt better afterwards.

It doesn't make me feel much better right now though. What if they believe him over me? What if everyone thinks I'm a liar? That I was asking for it? Just like he said?

I look at Masen then, my bottom lip trembling. He's over to me instantly, lifting me up in his arms, my legs wrapping around his waist.

"Fuck, Bella. If I'd have known..." He trails off unable to keep the anger out of his voice.

He pulls back and his lips are on mine, kissing me so hard it breathes life back into me.

"You're everything to me. Everything. I hope you know that."

I blink down at him, caught off guard by his candidness. But then he smiles and I can't help but laugh.

I kiss him this time, and it's the best kind of kiss, the one that leaves my stomach flipping and my heart bursting.

Because he's everything to me too.

...

Pulling my jeans down over my hips, kissing my belly, hands skimming the tops of my thighs; there's hesitation in his eyes that wasn't there before.

"Don't do that," I beg. "You said. You said you wouldn't look at me differently and you are. I'm not going to break, I promise."

He stops and studies me, dark eyes moving over my face.

"OK."

He works me over with his mouth and his fingers, languidly, until I'm right on the edge and then he keeps me there, waiting, teasing.

"Masen," desperation laces my voice.

He looks up from between my legs, my clit on his tongue. "Bella." He licks and I gasp, hips raising, desperate for more.

Instead, he moves up my body, hands sliding over me, making me arch into his touch until he's brushing his lips against mine.

"I've missed you so much," I mumble into his mouth.

"You got no idea," he breathes. My hand finds him as he hovers, smooth skin under my palm, groaning as I stroke him up and down, rolling my wrist, fluidly, until we can't wait any longer.

He slides in slow. His hand is in mine, every push and pull intense, all-consuming, the way he looks at me; I hope I reflect it back, the utter adoration I feel for him.

When I crumble, a tear sliding down my cheek, he's right there with me.

Sex is sex, fucking is fucking, but this feels like love.

…

He's not there when I wake up, his space beside me lukewarm. I tiptoe out of bed and I see him, stood on his balcony, shirtless and smoking, talking on the phone in the half-light of dawn.

His voice carries in the stillness of the night.

"_— it's good, yeah? Then put the hit out. I want him dead._"


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

"Thanks, Detective Hale," I say hanging up my cell, something like elation welling up in my chest. It's been four days - four whole days since the concluding statements and the jury entering into deliberations and I've been a nightmare. Unable to sleep, unable to eat much, unable to concentrate on anything. Masen's kept me company in the middle of the night when I'm wide awake and the only thing that's keeping me remotely sane is binge-watching _Keeping Up With the Kardashians_.

As I tell Masen: it's so bad, it's good, and now he's got his Kim K impression down to a tee.

Arms wrap around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder. He waits, and I appreciate that. Not instantly probing even though I know he wants to know the outcome as much as I did. I take a minute, looking at the downtown buildings, Lake Michigan in the distance, letting it sink in.

"Guilty, all charges," I say eventually. He turns me so I'm pressed against his muscled chest, hands lying flat against his pecs.

"As if there were any doubt." He kisses me. "You OK?"

"Yeah, I mean… yeah. It's good, right? I'm just relieved. Don't think I could stand it if people thought I was askin' for it. Y'know?"

"Anyone who thinks that ain't in their right mind. Nothin' can excuse what that fucker did to you," Masen says darkly. "Nothin'." He holds me tightly and I let myself relax for a split second, feeling safe in his arms. Loved. Even if he's not said it, that's how he makes me feel.

"Thank you." I don't need to elaborate, I don't think. He knows I'm thanking him for what he did because if he had never, maybe I'd still be living in fear. I'd have never have gone to the cops myself, that's for sure.

I stand on my tiptoes to cover his mouth with mine and when I step away, I can see his concern is still there.

"Just gonna ring Char and Maria, let them know," I say stepping back, still holding his hand.

"Sure."

I do this while smoking a cigarette on the balcony, quitting long out the window. Charlotte screams down my phone so loud I have to hold it away from my ear until she's speaking at normal volumes.

"Thank fuck! That's made my whole friggin' year. Finally, that fuckin' asshole is gonna rot in a cell for the rest of his days hopefully bein' someone's bitch!"

I wince at the thought.

We make plans for later that week and I'm looking forward to it, to getting back to normal after all the emotional upheaval, finally closing the door on that chapter of my life, washing my hands of it.

Charlotte's right.

He can rot.

...

"Move in with me."

I look up at Masen from my position on the sofa; horizontal, sprawled out in a sports bra and leggings, my feet in his lap as I read the same paragraph from my GED science book for what must be the fifth time.

His feet are up on the coffee table, hand rubbing mine as he watches a Cubs game. I fold the corner of the page I'm on before abandoning the book on the floor.

"Are you serious?"

"That a no?"

"No… that's a 'are you serious'?"

His hand moves up my leg. "Why else would I ask?"

I bite my lip to stop the huge smile that wants to engulf my face from cracking it wide open.

"Have you—have you thought it through properly? Like, my stuff would be all over your place. I would be here _all_ the time."

His eyes travel around lingering on my bag and shoes by the front door; my coat slung over one of the dining chairs; a sweater behind my head; nail polish and bobby pins scattered on the coffee table by his feet.

"It already is. And I like that you're here." He stops, and I know he's probably thinking of my clothes in his drawers, the toothbrush and shower stuff here that never left, and he never moved, even when we were apart.

We've fallen back together seamlessly. An unspoken conversation after that day in court; after that night we spent together.

"It's alright if you don't wanna. Maybe too soon." He frowns a little. It's not often he's like this—uncertain of himself.

I'm up on my knees, crawling to him over the sofa cushions until I'm straddling him, his hands coming to rub up and down my thighs.

"Not too soon. I want to," I say, smile finally breaking free. His lips curve into a big, wide, easygoing grin.

"Yeah?"

"Yes!" My lips hit his, excitement rushing through me. "Let me get this GED test done and…" I trail off thinking. We really need to get some difficult conversations out of the way.

I really need to tell him. The whole truth. About me. About who I am, before I move in otherwise it's just going to keep eating at me like it did before.

I suck my cheeks in and sit back.

"I need to tell you something, but I don't—I'm not quite there yet. Ready." The frown is back on his face, but this time mine matches it. I look down, playing with the zipper on his black hoodie.

"OK…" he draws the word out slowly and I just know he's running through a million scenarios in his head. "You ain't pregnant are you?"

"What? No! Why would you even think that?"

He shrugs. "Worst-case scenario."

I gape at him. "Really, now? Me being pregnant is your worst-case scenario?" I sweep my hair off my face a little stunned, blinking at him.

"Not for the reasons you're probably thinkin'." He sits up so we're close again. "There are just… there are people out there who might… might hurt you cus of me- who I work for. Adding a kid into the mix makes everyone more vulnerable, y'know?"

I don't say there's supposedly already people out there who'd want to hurt me because of _my_ family.

Masen mistakes my silence and brings his fingers to run up and down my sides, kissing me softly. I shiver at his touch. "You're a weakness as it is. If anyone came after you I'd lose my fuckin' shit."

I can well imagine that. He's not possessive, but he's protective. He puts me on this pedestal I'm not sure I deserve.

His dick twitches underneath me. "Are you seriously turned on right now?"

"Just somethin' about the idea of you pregnant with my kid," he grins. "Never thought 'bout it before but you'd be one hot MILF."

I roll my eyes. "Jesus."

"If you're up for it, I want you to do some regular shootin' practice at the range with me or Emmett," Masen says, shifting the subject.

I'm zipping and unzipping his hoodie until I'm looking at him from under my lashes.

"Why?"

"Want you to be able to take someone out with a clean shot."

"Um, OK. Where is this coming from? You genuinely worried? Do I need to be checkin' over my shoulder or somethin'?"

"Just a few things recently got me thinkin'. I'm not keen you even being around Ben and Alec, knowin' them like I do. Sometimes people turn on each other in this business."

I'm silent, trying to take this in. "I mean, sure I'll do it. If you think it's important. You really think someone would?"

Masen thinks on this. "Maybe. As a rule... goin' after women and kids ain't accepted. They're innocent. You're innocent. It's frowned upon, but it's not like it's never happened and it'd definitely be a way of gettin' to me… Alec though, like he saw you as fair game cus he thought you were in on what James was doin'."

For a fleeting moment, I wonder about the possibility of Papà telling the truth. That he didn't murder my Mamma. But then his whole trial… all the evidence. It was concrete, solid. His fingerprints on the murder weapon. You can't make that shit up.

"Is it something to do with James?" Masen asks, interrupting my thoughts.

I shake my head.

Masen kisses me. "Just tell me when you're ready. I'm sure it ain't as big a deal as you're makin' it out to be in your head."

Somehow, I think he's wrong.

…

I'm leaving Irina's from a late evening session, rain thundering down on the sidewalk, water splashing onto my feet, flimsy flats offering little protection. I really wish I'd worn my boots instead, but they're at Maria's and it's supposed to be summer. Another positive to moving in with Masen; at least all of my stuff will be in one place.

Work beckons, only a twenty-minute walk from here, so I pull out my umbrella, glad for the time to wind down. I always find I need to; Irina's sessions are draining, she makes me think in a different way to how I'm used to and it's tiring, mentally.

The streets are still full of people but it's the persistence of movement right behind me that my ears tune into. The footsteps are almost in time with mine, slowing and speeding up as I do.

Hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end, the feeling of someone right behind me as I press the crossing button, gripping my bag and my umbrella tighter.

Unnerved, I take a detour into an open coffee shop and order myself a black coffee to go, pausing at a table by the window and taking my time putting my purse back in my bag so I can see the street.

People pass by, huddled under coats and umbrellas, but there's one person, a man, dressed in a dark jacket loitering by a phone box on the opposite side of the street. I watch him, before pulling my cell out, wondering whether I should bother Masen. I mean, maybe I'm just being paranoid after our conversation the other week?

When I look up the man's no longer there and I relax, chewing myself out for being worried over nothing.

I can't stop for long, so I head out, acutely aware I'm going to have Paul moaning if I'm late. He's already pissed off that I had time off for James' trial, and I don't want to rock the boat anymore.

It's another five minutes before I realize I wasn't imagining it. I turn my head and the man is behind me, hands stuffed into his pockets. The road is still busy, so stupidly or not so stupidly on the spur of the moment I whirl around.

"Are you following me?"

"You Bella?" he volleys back, keeping his hands in his pockets. I think there's an accent there, but I can't be sure.

"What the hell is it to you?"

I can see his face, clearer now. He's older, greying hair around his temples, just visible underneath his black hood. His face is pitted with acne scars, his lip slightly misaligned, like it's been cut and sewn back up all wrong.

He's looking at me and then his gnarly face breaks out into a smile. "You look just like your Mom. This is from your Dad." He holds out a small folded up piece of paper between a thumb and a finger.

I look at it and then up at him, eyes darting around. Slowly my hand drops my bag strap and extends to take it from him.

He watches me carefully. "You be safe now. Call me, if you aren't."

By the time my brain has caught up with what he's said, he's gone.

And I think…

I think I've just met Demetri.

I read the note before I get into work. It's short and to the point.

_Parla con me, Principessa, per favore_.

Speak with me, Princess, please.

Memories stir, faint snatches of conversations on the phone with him always calling me that—Princess.

There's a number at the bottom and then also the same exact words as before, the same as on that card.

If in danger call Demetri.

I'm more tempted to ring Demetri again then Papà at this point.

How can I speak to him knowing he killed my Mamma? How could he think I would change my mind? The last time we spoke I told him I hated him, and I'd never forgive him.

Nothing's changed as far as I'm concerned, but it still doesn't stop me from folding the note and carefully slipping it into the inner pocket of my bag.

...

I'm eating breakfast a week later when it comes on the news. At first, I'm not paying attention but when they name the prison my head jerks up to the screen.

The reporter is standing outside the same prison front that I stood outside not so long ago.

One inmate dead, he confirms, gesticulating at the prison, nodding seriously into the camera as the in-studio anchors probe him for more information.

James' face appears on the screen.

The cereal bowl slips from my fingers, smashing on the wooden floor, milk and soggy frosted flakes all over.

"... _due to be sentenced after being convicted on a number of offences, including drug trafficking and domestic violence charges._"

Masen appears in the doorway of his bedroom, wet hair falling into his eyes, pulling a t-shirt over his head. He looks at shattered ceramic, milk splattered up my legs, on my feet.

"What's the matter?" he says, walking over carefully. "You OK? You're pale."

My mouth moves but no words come out.

"What's wrong?"

The TV has moved to a different segment but I'm snatching up the remote and changing the channel until I find it. Until I find his face again.

"Did you do this?"

Masen glances at it and is silent for almost too long, as he watches the report.

"No," he says shortly. I sink down weakly on the sofa.

James is dead.

James is dead.

James is dead.

James is dead?

_Fuck_.

"Don't lie to me. I heard you."

I can't help it. It comes out before I can even think. I wasn't sure who he was talking about that night, even though it seemed likely; I told myself, naively it could've been anyone. And it wasn't like I could confront him because then I'd have had to have had the conversation I've been avoiding. I thought him being in prison was enough? Obviously not.

Masen continues his denial, oblivious. I throw up my hands feeling sick and shaky and unsure.

I know I need to tell him.

Everything, everything.

Right now.

I'm just not sure I'm ready.

This though, it's kind of forcing my hand. I discussed this with Irina, just the other day. About trust, about telling your deepest darkest secrets. I trust him more than anyone, but I know this might tear us apart again if he takes it wrong.

"This weren't anythin' to do with me. Shit like this happens. You just gotta piss off the wrong person and you're as good as dead." Masen's shrugging. "Just hope it was nice and slow, fucker didn't deserve anythin' less."

I don't get to explain myself any further though because Masen's attention has been drawn by the TV. I turn back to it, and if I wasn't shocked before, I'm sucker punched now. Papà's face, his name on rolling news. They're going through the prison's reputation, listing off infamous inmates.

"_Three months ago Calagero Falcone was transferred to the facility. Falcone, a former mafia don, once had a criminal empire that spanned international waters. All that changed after the 1989 murders of his wife and daughter. Renata Falcone was shot multiple times at their palatial home in Queens, New York. Their daughter, Isabella, was just four years old at the time… her body has never been found, but DNA evidence at the scene was enough to convict him of both their murders. Falcone has always denied responsibility for the slayings.._."

They show a picture of my Mamma.

And then they show a picture of me.

Four years old, but me.

It's my Mamma though, who I look like. Too alike to possibly mistake. Masen said it himself when he saw that photo of my parents.

I'm frozen, open-mouthed.

_Shit_.

Masen's dotting the i's and crossing the t's. He looks at me and then back at the TV and then again. He watches me until I look away. I don't know what to do. Fear creeps on my skin, my throat closing.

He's not stupid, he's figured it out.

Panic rises, fight or flight warring. I stand, his t-shirt hanging loosely around my thighs. I need to… I need to clean up. I'm over to the cupboard in the kitchen bringing out the dustpan and brush but Masen's striding over to me and prising it out of my hands.

"Sit the fuck down."


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

Heart in my mouth, my whole body inwardly cringes as I sit back on the sofa, toes curling into the high-pile rug.

Masen leans against the TV console in front of me.

Everything he does is magnified; hand reaching into black sweatpants, the sound of the plastic film on a fresh pack of Marlboro being torn open, the snap of his Zippo, the roll of flesh against metal, the noise of air being sucked through the lit end of his cigarette.

I don't dare say anything.

He rubs a hand down his face, shaking it disbelievingly as he exhales. I can't look at him any longer, pulling his t-shirt down over my legs.

This isn't how I wanted him to find out.

Not at all.

I should've done it sooner.

I look towards the balcony, out at grey skies, the soft babble of the TV in the background. When I look back at Masen he's focused intently on me.

"You've been lyin' to me all this time."

It's not really a question, it's more a statement.

I swallow thickly, and before I can say anything else, he's already speaking.

"I need you to be completely honest with me, right now, cus I'm… I feel like a fuckin' idiot here."

His voice is strained, like he's doing his best to keep his temper in check.

"I never wanted to lie to you," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

A scathing laugh escapes him.

"But you've been doin' it anyway?"

"That's not… that's—_none_ of this was _my _choice. None of it! I was just a little kid. I couldn't tell you the whole truth. I told you what I could. More than I should've. I'm not supposed to tell anyone anything. I'm supposed to be _dead_."

I can't keep the bitterness out of my voice. My fists clench at my sides. It sounds ridiculous, the stuff of shitty movies. Laughable.

Masen's eyes are hard, his jaw working over, knee bouncing.

"Were you ever gonna tell me? Or just carry on pretending you're someone you're not?"

"I'm not pretending anything!" I snap frustratedly. "I am who I am. It's just a different name. It's as simple as that."

"It's not as simple as that!" he says harshly. "You're fuckin' crazy if you think it is. Were you ever gonna tell me? Huh?"

I brush back my hair, pulling it into a bun on top of my head, flushing with heat, anger buzzing in my veins.

"_This _was what I wanted to tell you about. When I said I wasn't ready yet. I talked about it with Irina like yesterday—not the specifics but… you don't—" I sigh annoyed with myself for stumbling over my words.

I need him to understand right now, but I'm not doing a great job of explaining myself.

"You're the only person I've ever considered telling," my voice wobbles. "Do you have any idea what it's like? How much it eats away at me? That my whole life is built on this huge fucking lie? I told you—it's not like I wanted any of this, it's not like I had a choice in it."

He's pacing now, up and down in front of the TV, frustration evident in every step. There's a long pause again, as I watch him, warily.

"You know who your dad is though? Right? You know this makes you..." He curses, stress breaking out on his face. "_Fuck_."

"Of course I know who he is. Why do you think I don't have nothin' to do with him! I told you that, that night by the motel. We don't speak! I have no relationship with him, at all. It makes me _nothing_."

"You're wrong there, it makes you somethin'. I want you to be fuckin' with me so bad right now, Bella," he says a note of desperation in his voice. "But everythin' adds up. Everythin' you've told me fits. Your old man in jail, your mom, you livin' in Queens, you getting shot…"

He inhales deeply again, his voice low. "Who else knows?"

I look down at my hands, twisting them in my lap.

"My Papà and a guy called Demetri. My Nonna did, but she's not here anymore… and now you."

"Papà," Masen repeats under his breath humorlessly. He's quiet. "No one else?"

I shake my head. "Not that I know of," I whisper. Then, "You can't tell anyone. No one can know. I wasn't supposed to know. It was made clear to me when I found out what he'd done, who I was—am, whatever, that there are people out there who'd want me dead."

When he looks up at me, his expression is pained. He runs a hand through his hair.

"Who's Demetri?" he probes.

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"No, I—I've got some stuff. Like my real birth certificates and stuff. There was a card which says I need to call Demetri if I'm—if there's trouble. I think... the other day—"

I tell him about the guy following me, about the note from Papà.

"You confronted him?" Masen says appalled. "Why the fuck didn't you call me? What if it was some sicko? Jesus, Bella, it's like you're just fuckin' askin' for trouble, pulling shit like that!" He leans forward stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table between us.

"I wasn't sure and by the time I was, it was too late! You might've been ages away, anyway!" I say defensively, throwing my hands up. "You can't be there all the time."

"Show me," he demands, folding his arms. "Show me the note."

I fetch the folded paper from my bag, passing it to him apprehensively. He studies it and then looks up at me from under his hair.

"You can read this."

"Yeah," I admit reluctantly.

"_All this time you've understood everything?_" he asks quietly, his face stormy.

I just nod, there's no point in denying anything anymore even if it makes him angrier. He blows out a long breath, hanging his head in his hands swearing, before pressing the heel of his hands into his eyes.

"_I'm sorry_," I tell him, Italian feeling clumsy in my mouth from years of disuse. "_I'm really, really sorry. I wanted to tell you so bad_."

He looks up finally and I can't read him. He doesn't make any acknowledgement of my apology.

"He keep tabs on you? Your dad?"

"_Not since my Nonna died. The shit I pulled after I found out everything, he'd have stepped in if he cared. That's the first contact I've had since I was, like, thirteen. Nonna would speak to him, once or twice a month but I never. I thought I saw him, that day I visited James—he saw all of that if it was him._"

Masen starts up his pacing again and I can only watch him as the silence deepens.

"Wouldn't take him long to find out what the deal was with you and James if he's still got contacts. If he got a hold of your statement… No way he'd let that shit go."

James' face appears on the TV behind him again and I suck in a sharp breath. He's dead. He's dead and… and _"You put a hit out on him_…_ please don't lie to me, I heard you_."

Masen glances behind him, straightening. "_Fine. Yeah,_" he admits. "_He deserved it. Whatever sentence he was gonna get would never be long enough. What he did... It wasn't carried out though, some other fucker got to him before._"

"So it wasn't you?"

His cell blares and he fishes it out of his pocket before ignoring it.

"No. I'd bet my life on it being your old man though."

"He doesn't care! I just told you. He killed my Mamma and faked my death. He lied to my Nonna about what he did right up until she died! She made me talk to him on the phone for years knowin' what he did!"

Masen's shaking his head. "That don't make sense. Why'd he go to all the effort..." He groans. "You got no idea how much this complicates things."

"It doesn't have to."

"It's not that simple. I told you," he says aggravated. "I run in similar circles. You gotta know that? I know you're not stupid. There's a reason your _Papà_ is known, he upset a lot of people back in the day, before my time, but still."

His cell goes off again. "I gotta get this," he says, tiredly. "Stay here. We're not finished."

Answering it snappily, he walks away, out of the apartment, probably so I can't eavesdrop anymore, the door slamming shut behind him.

I switch off the news, unable to look at James' face again, a mixture of feelings swelling up every time they run the report. Guilt, relief, more guilt, sadness. Forcing myself up, I busy myself clearing up the smashed bowl and cereal, trying to distract myself.

When Masen's still not back after half an hour I drag myself into the shower, mind running away under a steady stream of hot water. I don't know how long I stand there, staring into nothingness, going over and over and over the same things in my head until I have to lean against the cold tiles for support.

James. Masen. James. Papà. Masen. Masen. James. Masen. Papà. Nonna. James. Masen.

_Fuck. _I feel sick, the kind of sick that rolls in my stomach and crawls my throat until I'm hunched over porcelain, hurling my guts up.

Brushing my teeth I wipe away the condensation on the mirror, staring at myself; paler than usual, a slight sheen to my skin from throwing up, a sticky, sweaty feeling back on my skin.

James is dead and Masen knows and it's all just a fucking mess.

It doesn't take much for me to throw-up again.

There's a soft knock at the door and I close my eyes, hands clinging to the counter before washing my mouth out. Masen calls my name through the door asking whether I'm OK.

The time on my cell tells me he's been gone at least a couple of hours now and I wonder what the hell he's been doing.

I unlock the door, pulling it open, towel clinging to wet skin as he leans against the doorjamb, his eyes searching mine, a frown on his face.

"Were you throwin' up?"

I lower my eyes to the floor. "Um, yeah. Just—everything… I'm... You were gone for a while," I mumble as I edge past him, my worries from the last hour spilling over into words.

I feel like everything's been blown apart and I'm just sailing through the air right now with no idea where I'm going to land.

Everything's up to him.

And he's made no indication of how this changes things; if this changes things.

I desperately don't want it to change things.

"Needed to clear my head."

I get that. I can understand. If it were me, I'd be a hell of a lot more pissed off then he is right now.

I can feel him watching me as I pull on lacy panties and a matching bra, and for the first time in a while, I feel self-conscious. He sits down on the edge of the bed as I brush out wet hair in the mirror.

"Are you mad?" I ask his reflection, my eyes filling with tears. "I really don't want you to be mad. I get it if you are. I should've told you myself. You shouldn't have found out like that. I'm sorry. But I—I really don't want this to change us. I'm still me. And you know me better than- better than anyone."

I turn to him, leaning against the dresser, waiting, anxiously.

He rubs his hand through his stubble. "Am I mad? I'm not gonna lie; I was, yeah. This is some crazy fuckin' shit. All this time I thought you were… But I—you're right. I've been thinkin' it over and this ain't your fault. And I get it. You're just doin' what you've always been told. And I doubt you were told wrong. Your old man didn't become who he was by not havin' any fuckin' sense."

He leans back and jerks his head. "C'mere."

I bite my lip, walking towards him, hands moving over his shoulders, his coming to rest on the backs of my thighs.

"You could be with someone with way less baggage. I'm such a mess, it's not even funny," I tell him, fingertips dancing and smoothing over the seams on his t-shirt.

"You want that?"

My eyes jerk to his.

"No! Of course not. I'm just—just sayin'. I—I want to be with you, you know that. I just don't want to lose you over this," I say, unable to keep the distress that's twisting my insides from spilling out.

"Jesus. This ain't gonna make me leave you, Bella, I need some time to fuckin' digest it but I'm—I'm in this with you, OK?"

He reaches up, a tender kiss on my lips, tension seeping away as I melt against him.

"You gonna speak to him- your dad?" he asks me searchingly.

I've thought about it but I keep coming to the same conclusion, over and over again. So I shake my head.

"Nothing's changed. I read his court case... it was solid. His prints on the gun he used. I'd just tell him the same thing I told him the last time we spoke, so no. I don't have anythin' to say to him."

"If that's how you feel."

"I do." He's still frowning. "What? Why are you lookin' like that?"

"I dunno, somethin' 'bout it all makes no sense to me. Unless it wasn't him. Evidence though, that's hard to fake." He shrugs it off. "Look, I got some stuff I need to do now, but I wanted to—Just… stay here. Alright?"

"I gotta go to work later." I chew on my lip.

"Call in sick or somethin'. We should talk about this more."

"But—"

"No buts."

"You can't tell anyone," I implore. "No one. Promise me you won't. Promise me I can trust you with this? No one knows, no one can know; if anyone else finds out—"

I think he kisses me again just to shut me up.

"I'm not goin' to tell no one, Bella. You can trust me."

"Are you really not mad at me?" My eyes swim with tears because I really don't want him to be mad with me.

He sighs. "No."

I kiss him hard; all over him, hands in his hair, pressing myself as close as I can get, a silent thank you. He groans when I bite his lower lip, fingers tightening on my hips.

"You're makin' it real fuckin' hard to leave," he mumbles.

"So don't leave," I plead, kissing him again, straddling his lap in a fog of desperation; I really don't want to be alone right now, not with the endless thoughts flying around my head.

"I got to," he says reluctantly. "Y'know I'd love nothing more than to spend the rest of the day with you."

He gets dressed properly and when he finally leaves, he's looking at me with a look I can't quite place.

"I'll see you later, OK?"

I nod. "OK." My voice is small.

"Stay here," he stresses before the front door of his apartment closes.

...

I spend the rest of the day wandering around miserably, trapped and restless, my mind drifting to places it shouldn't.

How James died.

Who did it?

I may hate him, but I loved him once. He may have deserved to rot, but I don't know whether he deserved to die.

And now Masen knows everything.

Everything, everything.

I wonder whether he was lying when he says he isn't mad. I think I'd be if our roles were reversed.

I phone Paul when it's late afternoon, but he chews me out, unsympathetic.

"If I don't see you here at nine p.m. on the dot, you're gonna be looking somewhere else for work," he barks as I wince. "I don't care if you're dying. I need staff tonight, it's a big night."

Eyes red-rimmed, light-headed from not eating, I drag myself in. Paul's big night is actually Alec's big night; some over the top party to celebrate Bliss officially changing hands. I'd forgotten about it with everything else going on until he'd said.

Maria corners me by my locker, leaning against it wearing the tiniest shimmery thong and bra set, a body chain layered over the top. I shove my bag in, pulling out heels and dropping them to the floor with a thud.

"You alright, babe? I didn't think you'd be here today after everything…" Her hand finds my arm and she rubs it soothingly. I know she means James but my insides lurch at her choice of words as if now my secret is out everyone else knows too.

I shrug and offer her a watery smile, adjusting my tits in the low cut red dress I'm wearing.

"Yeah, well, Paul was having none of it and to be honest, I need a distraction," I admit. "I can't stop thinking about it." It and everything else. Maria smiles sympathetically, her arms wrapping around me in a hug.

"Oh, babe. Just let me know if you need anything, I'm sure Alec won't mind you joining Masen later."

"Think Paul would have somethin' to say if I did that."

"Fuck Paul!" Maria tells me. "He's hardly gonna pick a fight with Masen, is he?"

I smile, but it's painfully fake on my face. I messaged Masen when I was on my way here, telling him I was going to work, but he's not responded. I don't even know whether he's going to be here. He never mentioned it earlier.

My stomach twists at the thought of earlier; of all the shit that's happened today and I dry retch behind my hand, waving Maria's concern away.

"I'm fine," I reassure her even though we both know I'm lying. She leaves me reluctantly and I lean against the locker with my head tilted back, metal cold against the bare skin of my back.

I need to get a grip.

...

Dancing my way through the crowds with a tray of drinks, I reach where Alec's sat in the biggest of the curved seating areas out on the floor. He's surrounded by men I've never seen before, Maria on his lap, smoking a Cuban; shirt half undone, basking like a King; everything at his feet.

Alec barely gives me a passing glance and the only other man I recognize is Ben. There's a certain rough and readiness about the people Alec has here tonight. They're not like our usual crowd; we look after high-rollers, minor celebrities, career-driven businessmen; men who want and can afford a different class of strip club. This is not them, not by a long shot.

It's all I need to know to feel uneasy. The fact I'm run-off-my-feet busy keeps my mind from straying to James, but not Masen, because he should be here and he's not. I hope he's not too annoyed with me for coming in to work, but I still need this job—maybe not as much as before but I still want to pay my way.

"Bella," Ben greets. He's been slightly less leery since I removed the bullet from his arm, but tonight it doesn't stop his eyes from moving down to my tits.

"Hey."

"Aren't you gonna introduce me Benny-boy?" a guy next to him says, looking me up and down with a smirk. He must be close to forty, gelled hair, and arrogance, a shake to his hand as he reaches for a drink and downs it in one, not breaking eye contact.

"Royce, Bella. Bella, Royce." I acknowledge him with a quick smile and pick up the empty tray, ready to head back to the bar.

"Why don't you stay a little while?" Royce says, patting the slither of space next to him.

"Sorry, I'm working."

"C'mon, sure you can spare me a few minutes, pretty girl."

I glance at Ben who looks mildly amused.

"If you want company, there's plenty of girls here; you tell me what kind of girl and I'll be happy to fix you up," I tell him, sugary sweet.

"I like the look of you."

"Not an option, sorry."

My patience is wearing thin right now, his persistence grating. Normally, I can deal with it, but not today. Today I'm five seconds away from snapping and telling him to go fuck himself.

Instead, I turn to Ben. "You know if Masen's gonna be here?" I ask him.

Ben shrugs. "Yeah, should be."

I smile then. "Cool."

I leave Royce with a pinched expression on his face.

By the time I actually see Masen slip into the booth a half-hour later, settling between Alec and Ben, I feel relieved. Things are getting rowdier as the night progresses. Sam laying into Paul about how some of the customers are treating the girls and at this point, I just really want to go home.

I thought this would be good for me—normality in the midst of chaos and it's worked for a while, but not anymore.

When I look up Masen's dark eyes are zeroed in on me. I tilt my head slightly, wanting him to come talk to me or something, but he shakes his head minutely. He's made no attempt to make conversation since he arrived and it roots my uneasiness a little deeper.

I turn on my heel, confused; not sure why he's not even trying to acknowledge me. I'm his girlfriend. At least that's how I thought we left things.

...

"What are you doin' back here?" I say startled as Masen appears by my side in the dressing room, just as I'm about to take my break.

"Making sure you're OK. Didn't I tell you to stay at home?"

Guilt swamps me. He did. And I didn't.

I fish my cigarettes out of my locker, closing it after I've slid one out.

"I tried callin' in sick but Paul was being a dick about it. Besides, just felt like I was going crazy being on my own. Overthinking everything. Needed something to take my mind off things. I forgot about this thing Alec has going on, though."

"Me too," Masen says tiredly. "Load of shit."

"So, um, why are you—why are you ignoring me out there?" I ask him, awkwardly, feeling a rush of insecurity. I look down at my feet, folding my arms. "You embarrassed or somethin'?"

He actually laughs and I narrow my eyes. "No. Fuck, no! It ain't like that. You remember what I said? Couple of weeks ago, about not wantin' people to know you're important to me? Well, that."

He draws me close, hands at the small of my back. I get it; I think. I come in closer, playing with a button on his shirt.

"I could never be embarrassed by you," he mumbles, hands cupping my tits, thumbs brushing over nipples, mouth hot and heavy on mine. I let myself get carried away, kissing him, letting his hands travel, a rush of want flooding me. "I'd take you right here if you'd let me," he says. "Push these panties to the side." His fingers find the edge of them, teasing. "Make you feel real good."

"Urgh. Don't say things like that, you'll get me in trouble," I groan wiping my lipstick from his lips with my thumb. He kisses it and then me, again until I'm lifted against the lockers, him grinding into me.

We're interrupted by some of the girls entering the dressing room, glancing between us, then giggling.

He lets me down slowly.

"Uh. I um..." I gesture to my cigarette, pulling my dress back down. "I've gotta go smoke this before I run out of break. I'll be out again after."

I walk him back to the door that leads out onto the floor, feeling happier.

"Might wanna wipe my lipstick off your face again," I say after one more searing kiss.

He grimaces, wiping at his mouth. "I'll see you back out there."

"Sure." I turn towards the door that leads to the outside alley.

"Bella," Masen calls after me, hand finding his hair. "I—"

He's interrupted by Zafrina coming through the door.

"There you are! Share that with me?" she says, nodding at my cigarette, hooking her arm through mine.

"Later," I mouth at Masen.

...

Royce tries to engage me when I come off my break, trapping me by the bar when I'm getting more drinks. I shut him down, not so sweetly this time.

"Look, I don't know what's so hard for you to understand. I'm working, and even if I wasn't, I'm seeing someone. There's girls available if you want some one-on-one time."

I gesture around at the strippers working the poles on stage; the numerous girls prowling for their next dance.

"Who lets you work here?" Royce sneers, trailing me as I head back towards where Masen's sat, looking over, a tick in his jaw that lets me know he isn't happy right now. "He not got the dolla to keep you happy?"

I ignore him pointedly as he slumps back in his seat, flashing Masen a smile when he brushes his fingertips against mine as I pass him his drink. When I look up Royce is looking between us and I kinda hope he gets the hint.

An older man has joined them whilst I've been on my break, sat in deep conversation with Alec. Salt and pepper hair, deep wrinkles lining his forehead; he's probably, with the exception of Alec, the only man who fits into our usual customer category. Rings adorning fingers, expensive Rolex on his wrist, his suit immaculately fitted, he's obviously important, two men dressed in black, like bookends either side of the booth. Security, if I had to guess.

I try not to let my gaze linger on him for too long, but he's too wrapped up in his conversation to spare me any attention.

An hour later as I set down more drinks he briefly looks up to acknowledge me, a curt thanks, muttered. I'm about to step away when his head turns back rapidly and it'd almost be comical if it weren't for the look on his face.

I smile politely clutching my tray, but he flies to his feet, paling, hand catching my wrist as I flinch, the metal of his rings digging into flesh, his grip uncomfortably tight.

"What're you—" I begin alarmed but he cuts me off. The last name I expect, falling from his mouth.

"_Renata_?"


	24. Chapter 24

**If you want songs for this one: Where's My Love? by Syml the alternative version and Can We Kiss Forever by Kina**

* * *

**Chapter 24**

"Renata?"

Time stops still and all I hear is the drumming of my heart loud in my ears and a million questions forming between them.

"I'm sorry," I say, finding my voice. "You must be confusing me with someone else."

I look at the hand still holding onto me far too tightly, my eyes darting to Masen on the edge of his seat. The man lets go slowly and sits back, gold rings glistening in the low lights.

"My apologies." His mouth curves up, but his smile doesn't reach his eyes; drinking me in and swallowing me whole. "Course you're not."

Leaning forward, his elbows come to rest on splayed knees, a whiskey glass hanging from his fingertips as he contemplates me. He raises the glass in toast before knocking it back in one.

"_Have you completely lost it, Caius?_" Alec asks, teeth gritted, pushing Maria off him, gesturing for her to leave with a wave of his hand.

Caius?

I rack my brains. I'm sure I've heard his name before but I can't for the life of me remember where.

Maria moves past reluctantly, glancing over her shoulder at me with a look on her face that clearly says, 'what the fuck,' and I wish more than anything I was moving away with her.

Instead, I'm frozen by the need to appear unfazed; normal. It's just another drunk guy blabbering away and I'm still working.

Apart from it's not.

"Lost it? No. No. This is just very... fortunate," Caius replies, his smile growing. "Isabella, is it?"

The uneasiness in the pit of my stomach morphs into fear.

He knows.

He _knows_.

I pause from placing glasses on the tray, looking him directly in the eye. It's not like I can lie. Too many people sat here know my name.

"Bella."

My eyes flit to Masen again, trying to quell the panic prickling all over, deciding that the best thing I can do is carry on pretending I don't know what the fuck he's going on about.

Caius looks amused when I look back at him; something sinister in the way his eyes gleam. "Bella." He laughs then, slightly maniacal, the hairs on my neck standing on end. "Your old man never was that creative."

"I'm not sure what—"

He cuts me off. "You're not sure, but I'm pretty fucking certain. You're not who you think you are." He pauses. "Or do you know?"

"I haven't got a clue what you're on about," I deny. "Excuse me." I turn to walk away but my exit is blocked by one of the men stood at the entrance to the booth.

"Alec," I say pleadingly, spinning around, addressing him directly for once. "This is stupid. Let me get back to work, please."

Alec leans in. "_You're sounding insane, Caius_. _You've been sniffin' too much blow_._ She's just a fucking waitress_."

Caius shakes his head, smiling at Alec with a kind of madness in his eyes. He pulls out a fat wallet, rifling through it, pulling out an old faded photograph, crumpled at the edges.

"Tell me I'm insane now. Go on," he goads Alec, passing him the picture. Alec studies it for a minute and then looks at me, then back to the picture again.

"She's Falcone's brat. I'd put a couple of mill on it," Caius says, lighting a cigar, breathing in. "Spit of her Mamma."

_Shit_.

I swallow hard, fear making my knees weak.

I need to get out of here.

Now_._

Alec scratches a thumb across his face, appraising me as he flings the picture carelessly down on the table. It feels like the whole circle crowds in, looking between me and the photo, trying to see whatever Caius is seeing. Everyone except me. I can't see it, but I can take a guess. I can't begin to understand why he'd have a photo of Mamma in the first place; why or how he knows her name. _My _name.

"So she bears a passing resemblance," Alec says, nonplussed.

"Falcone's been behind bars for what? Nearly twenty years? Rest of 'em are dead," Masen's voice joins in, perfectly steady. "She can't be."

Caius stares at me thoughtfully, tapping his fingers against glass. "They never found the body," he murmurs, more to himself than to anyone else.

"_The fuck are you on about_?" Alec asks, incredulity on his face, putting a hand on Caius' shoulder. "_You've been under some serious stress with the Feds, I get it, but you just gotta fuckin' relax. Have another drink. Get a couple of girls to show you a good fuckin' time. That's what tonight's supposed to be about, not you chasin' ghosts._"

He doesn't respond to Alec.

"Let's take this elsewhere. Bring her. And someone bring me Stefan. We'll find out soon enough," Caius says, standing, decisively.

_What?_

My head spins as someone grabs my arm roughly and I yank it away.

"What? Get off me! This is crazy, you're gonna take me somewhere? I'm _working_. I don't even know who you are!" I'm the right side of hysterical to make my reaction believable, mostly because I am; terrified and confused.

Masen's already on his feet, a look of ire on his face. He's so close, every part of me screaming for him; to stop this madness; to somehow get me out of here.

Ben grabs at his arm, holding him back, talking hurriedly. He isn't listening though, pushing him away, only for Royce to block his path.

Masen's up in his face, no hesitation, shoving him, hard.

"Get the fuck out my way."

"What's she to you?" Royce challenges.

My view suddenly disappears behind someone far bigger than me. I can't see Masen, but I can hear him, the sound of a fist hitting flesh, glasses being knocked over.

"You make one wrong move and there's gonna be a bullet in you faster than you can open your pretty little mouth and beg," a voice says in my ear.

I don't look at who's said it, or at whose hand is holding my upper arm again but my fear intensifies as something cold pushes against the exposed skin of my back.

"Start walking. Nice and calm like."

I've got no choice but to move, pushed forward with more force than necessary, walked towards the front of the club through crowds of oblivious people, unable to comprehend how this is actually happening right now.

I look over my shoulder but I can't see Masen or Maria or anyone.

"Bella? Where you goin'?" Lauren calls out as I pass her, giving me a strange look. The cold metal digs in harder; a warning.

"She's just showin' us out," one of Caius' guys says to her. I can't even answer; I can't even move my mouth or my eyes to try to convey to her I need help right now. I should be screaming and shouting and crying out for help, but nothing comes out. Nothing, I'm too scared of the consequences.

I walk until we're outside, my body shaking, teeth chattering from the cold or because I'm petrified or both. We're only stood for a minute out on the street when a blacked-out Range Rover pulls up and I'm lifted roughly into the backseat, doors slamming as the two men get in on either side.

One of them leers at me, a gold tooth glinting in the streetlights as he brings out a blindfold. "Don't worry, sweetheart, we're gonna take good care of you."

The car begins to move, my arms pulled roughly in front of me, a black plastic cable tie fastened taut around my wrists; my vision disappearing, covered by solid fabric.

And at this moment I become acutely aware that there's nothing I can do. That there's nothing anyone else can do for me either.

Not Masen.

Not anyone.

…

Everything intensifies when one of your senses is taken away. I'm hyper-aware of every nasally breath the man next to me takes; the high-pitched squeal of the brakes; the smell of new leather and cheap cologne; the thigh resting uncomfortably warm against mine.

I don't know how long we drive for before the car comes to a halt.

Doors open, a rush of cold night air filling the car and no more than thirty seconds later I'm manhandled out of it by hands that are far too rough, pinching and pulling my skin, my ankles rolling as I struggle blindly to find my footing in my heels. A hand tugs me up as I stumble before I'm forcefully moved across solid ground, up a flight of metal steps, the tops of my feet catching on the sharp edges, flashes of pain making me suck in sharp little breaths.

We move forward. There's the creak of a door and then I'm flying, landing with a startled cry as my hip and elbow jar against the ground.

The door slams behind me, the sound of a lock being turned and a bolt being slid across.

Sitting up, I bring both arms to my head, cable tie biting into the flesh of my wrists as I shove the blindfold up from my eyes.

I'm alone in a small room with no windows, four grimy beige walls and a solid, dirty grey floor. The only door is the one that's just been locked. I look up at the ceiling, hoping for a vent but this room doesn't have anything. It's an airtight, solid box.

Staggering to my feet, I move towards the door, pressing my ear against it, listening hard. There's the dull sound of shouts and the occasional guffaw of laughter behind it but I can't make out anything distinctive.

I move back, sliding down against the wall opposite, an overwhelming feeling of helplessness engulfing me.

How the fuck have I ended up here?

Twenty-four four hours ago I didn't know James was dead.

Twenty-four four hours ago Masen didn't know who I was.

And now I'm here. Wherever that is.

_Fuck_.

I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself down. Trying to think rationally, but that's hard when I put everything together because I know in my gut this is bad.

Like, _really _bad.

How Caius knows who I am; how he knows my Mamma... who exactly he is… I don't know. It's a puzzle in my head I can't quite put together and I can't help but feel like I'm missing something.

The onset of my panic attack is sudden, the little jolts of anxiety spilling over into hyperventilating; the need to get out, get out, get out, get out overpowering. I end up rocking myself, desperately trying to remember Irina's advice on how to ground myself, trying to ride it out with deep breaths.

Time passes but it loses its meaning when there are no indicators for just how long. It could be hours, it could be half a day; it's all irrelevant.

I pace. I throw my heels around. I cry.

Worst of all, I think.

I think about Masen the most. I wonder whether he told someone because this is just a little too coincidental; that this happened just a few hours after he found out?

The thought haunts me as I go over and over our entire relationship in my head, doubting everything he's ever said.

Maybe this was what he meant by complicated. Maybe he didn't want to choose between me and what he does, who he works for.

He repeatedly chooses it over me anyway.

Biting the inside of my cheek I hold back a sob, but it escapes and then I can't stop, despair eating away at me, nausea rising fast. I dry heave, gagging unable to help myself.

What I wouldn't give to rewind back to this morning; waking with Masen next to me, his voice rough and thick with sleep. Deep down I know he wouldn't do this to me. He just wouldn't. After everything, there's no-one I trust more.

My thoughts drift to Char and Maria and Petey. Then I think about James. I think about how he's dead, and that dark little place in my mind wonders whether I'll be joining him soon. I think about Mamma and Nonna and Papà. I think until it drives me to the door, banging on it with my heels, no regard for the cable slicing deeper through the delicate skin on my wrists.

When no one comes I put them back on my feet and kick it.

"I need the bathroom!" I yell, paint chipping off onto the floor, frustration tumbling out as I hit it with my foot over and over again.

After an age there's shuffling; the sound of the bolt being drawn back, the lock turning. Gold Tooth gestures me out, walking me down a narrow corridor to a toilet that looks like it hasn't been cleaned in years. I stop and look at it and then him in disgust.

He gestures me in with a smirk but when I go to close the door, he grabs it.

"Leave it open."

I look at him wide-eyed.

"What? This ain't the fuckin' movies, Princess."

"Well turn around then, I don't need an audience," I snipe.

I look at the toilet again, wondering just how many guys have pissed all over it. There's no way I'm sitting. It takes a while to edge my panties far enough down, the cable tie cutting deeper into my wrists, making me wince, my thighs shaking as I hover.

"You done, or what?"

"It's hard to go when you're stood right there!"

He huffs. "Hurry the fuck up."

I take my time deliberately, washing my hands slowly, wiping the mascara smudges from underneath red eyes, cupping my hands and taking a drink, even though it tastes foul.

Sighing, I let him know I'm done.

"How long am I gonna be here for?" I ask him just before he locks me away again.

"As long as it takes."

The door slams shut again, and with it, any hope left in me dies. As long as it takes for what? Me to go mad? For me to die? As long as it takes for _what_?

I sit quietly after that, staring into nothingness. I don't want to think of anything anymore. What might happen? Why this is happening? Where Masen is? I don't think I can handle the answers to those questions without the terror I feel completely consuming me.

I start crying again, hoping Masen's OK. Worried that he's not, that something bad might've happened to him with him kicking off at the club.

Eventually, exhaustion and tiredness win out, my head lolling against the wall as I drift in and out of fitful sleep.

It's the sound of the door opening again that wakes me.

I startle, flying to my feet as Gold Tooth comes in with a plastic cup and shoves it at my mouth. I drink as best I can, even though he tips it up too much and I end up choking and spluttering, cold water seeping through my dress.

He chucks it on the floor, careless.

"C'mon. Boss wants you."

_Boss_.

The word lingers unpleasantly in my head.

Leading me down a corridor out into a vast expanse of industrial warehouse I find Caius leaning against a table, Alec pacing around him, smoking. They glance up at me, Alec throwing his cigarette down onto the ground, stamping it out with a twist of his foot.

There are other men gathered around. Royce, now sporting a bruise on the right side his face, the other guy who travelled in the car with me, and some others I don't know but who were there, at the club. I wonder whether Masen's here. Maybe it's best if he's not. I don't like the thought of him having to watch whatever's going to happen.

I hold my arms awkwardly out in front, waiting, apprehension weighing heavy in my bones.

"Come here," Caius demands, beckoning me with the crook of his finger.

Alec is wary at Caius' side, his eyes rapidly travelling between us both. He nods his head slightly when I look to him for… something; guidance, I guess.

I've never trusted Alec before but I'd take him over Caius right now.

I walk unsteadily until I'm stood in front of this man who looks at me with a mixture of glee and hatred.

He stands up, walking around me a couple of times as my whole body trembles, my heart just about stopping as his hand comes and tilts my chin, this way and that. He trails it down and I step back before his fingertips touch my tits, disgust pulsing in my veins.

"No, no, don't be shy. _You're really something. So much like your Mamma_," he tells me. "_Beautiful_."

I stare very hard at the floor, holding my tongue.

"You know who I am?" he asks me, pacing in front of me, hands in pockets. I shake my head no.

"Caius De Luca. You _should_ know who I am." He brings out what I realize is my cell, a picture of Masen and me visible as my background. "You're with Masen, right? Huh?"

I don't answer, if he's been through my cell he'll know. He drops it on the floor, the back shattering off, before he crushes it under his foot, carelessly.

An unexpected rush of hurt swirls; all our messages; photos of us... gone. I bite my lip trying not to let the upset show on my face, I don't want to give him the satisfaction.

"Masen works for my nephew, who works for me... You could say we're all family here."

I know of the De Luca's, Alec's family. They run this city; I know that much. The thought isn't the slightest bit comforting.

"Now, _I_ want to know who _you _are, because I'm pretty fucking sure you're not _Bella Swan_." He tosses my drivers license at my feet and I'm left wondering how the fuck he even has these things. Just the thought of them going through my locker at work makes me feel violated. Exposed.

"You get gut feelings in this business. And you... well, _you… _ I'm pretty sure, are lying through your fucking teeth," Caius continues, pulling out a gun from inside his suit, stepping closer again, sniffing.

He brings it up to my face, stroking it down gently from my temple to my jaw, my breathing slowing to shallow pants, terrified.

"We can either do this the hard way, where you carry on lying… or you can tell the truth."

I can't help the tear that escapes down my cheek or the whimper that leaves my mouth as he presses the end of the gun against my forehead.

"Start talking."

My mouth opens but no words come out.

"Start talking."

I clamp it shut, silent. Shaking my head.

He takes the safety off.

"Last chance."

"Bella," Masen's voice says urgently from somewhere. I'm not even sure it's him, I'm not even sure I'm not imagining it. I close my eyes, feeling exhausted.

"If you're going to do it, just do it. You've already made your mind up anyway, so it don't really matter what I tell you. Unless it's what you think, it's gonna be wrong."

Caius stares, displeasure all around his mouth. He laughs, shaking his head a little before suddenly raising his hand and backhanding me hard across my face. The hurt is slow, smarting, blood rushing. But it's _nothing_. Not really.

"I'm gonna make this clear to you, you little bitch; you have limited options right now. If you're not going to play nice, then neither am I." His voice is low and dangerous, steely blue eyes flashing with anger.

"What if she's not who you think?" Alec interjects, lighting another smoke. "This is pointless if you're wrong."

Caius doesn't reply, distracted by movement in front of us. A door opens, a couple of men frog-marching another towards us. He's taller, thinner, with sallow skin and puffy bags under his eyes, a balding head of hair.

"Well, we're about to find out… Stefan!" Caius greets him a little too friendly, his arm coming out and clasping him around the shoulders. "So glad you could finally join us. Meet Bella." Stefan gazes at me for a second.

"Bella," he says, licking his lips, his eyes darting to me and then back to Caius, a look of confusion on his face.

"Tell me. Falcone's little girl, where did you shoot her?"

I suck in a breath, swaying on my feet.

He_ didn't. _

_Papà did._

The implication is almost enough to make me sink to my knees as it rattles around my head.

And I don't want to believe what it means because it means I'm wrong.

So very, _very _wrong.

Stefan laughs. "You expect me to remember? Geez, Caius. It's near two decades ago… fuck, she-she caught one… her left-hand side, stomach? Bled out."

"You left a kid to bleed out?" Alec tuts, disapprovingly.

Stefan shrugs.

Caius steps towards me, fingers finding the fabric straps of my dress, a strangled noise leaving my mouth as he tears them down my arms roughly, exposing my naked breasts to everyone. There are catcalls and jeers, someone, somewhere, wolf-whistling as a rush of humiliation floods me, my eyes stinging with it.

It doesn't take him long until he finds what I know he's looking for. He touches my scar with one thumb, hand wrapping around a bruise-blossomed hip, pushing on it far too hard and making me wince.

"Look at that," Caius says, slowly meeting my eyes as he returns the straps of my dress back up, self-satisfaction plastered on his face. "What are the chances? Now are you going to keep up this charade or are you going to come clean? Huh? You tell Stefan who you are. In fact, you admit to all of us who you are!"

My eyes get blurry as he gestures around, the gun back to pressing against my forehead. His obvious enjoyment of this is turning my stomach.

Worst of all he's right. What are the chances? Lying is futile. And something is bothering me more. Stefan, what Caius said about him...

"_I don't- I don't understand_," I say, voice small, hoarse. "_I don't understand; he did it. My dad. That's why he's in prison._"

Caius' eyes brighten, a smile spreading across his face. Alec, by contrast, looks thunderous and I wonder whether he's recalling all the things he's said about me, to Maria, all the snatches of things I've overheard…

I can't bring myself to care right now though.

"_Fluent as well_._ Maybe you'll get some answers if you're a good girl and admit it out loud. Who. Are. You?_"

The anger in his voice makes me flinch.

"Isabella Falcone," I mumble to the floor, the name foreign in my mouth.

"Louder!" Caius demands. "Who are you?"

I straighten up, unable to hold back my glare.

"Isabella Falcone," I spit at him, fire flashing in my veins.

Caius nods seemingly satisfied. "_Ah. Feisty_. _Just like her Mamma. Doesn't she look just like her, Stefan?" _

Stefan is pale, his cheek twitching, his hands twisting.

"Yeah," he says finally, agreeing.

"And how should she look, Stefan?"

"Well, she… she… she was barely alive!" Stefan blusters, stuttering, unable to hide the fear in his voice.

"Did you check?" Caius probes patronizingly. When Stefan doesn't answer straight away, he roars it in his face.

I recoil, instinctively.

Stefan is protesting too much. "All the blood—she was, she was bleedin' out, I swear. I swear!"

"No," Caius says shortly.

It happens so quickly, one minute Caius is reaching into his pocket, sliding fingers through a gold knuckle duster, the next he's beating Stefan viciously right in front of me, blood splattering and spraying, hitting me in the face, my arms, all over my dress. He beats him to the ground, and then until his skull caves and I'm crying behind my hands, trying to look anywhere but at the battered body lying feet away.

Caius nonchalantly pulls out a cloth from his pocket, coming to lean against the table, wiping down his face, completely calm. Like he hasn't just taken another man's life. Like beating a man to death was nothing at all.

He glances at me.

"_You've been living on borrowed time, Princess."_

I swallow thickly, feeling the trickle of Stefan's blood dripping slowly down the side of my face, biting back the repulsion.

"_I don't understand_," I say, my breathing getting ragged.

"_Tell me._"

Caius just smiles.

"_Tell me what you did! Tell me what he did? I don't understand! My dad did it. He did it, I read his case! I don't even talk to him because of what he did!_" I cry, a half sob escaping from my throat.

Caius watches for a minute, enjoying my distress. He's that type, that gets off on destruction; possessions or people it wouldn't matter.

He watches my whole world crumbling. Unable to hold back the tears dripping down my cheeks, the way my whole body is trembling.

"_I worked for your dad for a time. A long, long time. We were friends, once. When he took over the family business from your Nonno after he passed, God rest his soul, he was… ruthless. He ate up turf; expanded. He killed, he maimed, he terrorized, he bribed, he corrupted._" He pauses, methodically cleaning the blood from his hands. "_He made me his underboss. Life was good for us, business was good. But then he started making stupid fucking decisions._"

He gets up. "_We started disagreeing on a lot of things. I had my suspicions he was getting over-involved with my fiancée, y'know what I mean? He knocked the little whore up. As_ _you can imagine, it tore everything apart. I may have sworn an oath but_ _betrayal like that... it was a bloody business really. She and you were the only things he really cared for so you were… taken care of, eventually. Just when he thought he could relax. Just when he thought it was all over. When he thought you were safe. Stefan was the one who dealt with that for me._"

"But the evidence—"

"Planted," Caius says nonchalantly. "I wanted him to rot away, knowing he had nothing left. No family. No empire. Nothing."

I'm silent.

My Papà was telling the truth.

He didn't do it.

This man here is the reason I grew up without my Mamma. Without my Papà. I believed the courts over my own flesh and blood. I was so sure. So adamant Papà was lying to Nonna, to me. All those horrid things I said to both of them. The regret and guilt is both instant and intense.

I squeeze my eyes shut shaking my head, tears dripping fast and steady.

"_He must've saved you somehow; hid you away, went down for both your murders to make it look like you had died to keep you safe. Clever, really, I'll give him that. It's funny though, how things work out. You, working in a fucking strip club my nephew just bought up. Almost a thousand miles from where this all began_. _My lucky fuckin' day!_"

He laughs unkindly.

"_And now I have to decide what to do with you._"

He rubs at his face.

I want to throw up, my head spinning. This is all happening too fast. Far, far too fast.

"_She's hardly a threat_," Alec states, moving to Caius, surprising me. He's unusually sombre. "_She don't even know her old man_. _He's a stranger to her. It ain't right to punish her for his mistakes._"

I try to take deep breaths but I can't hold back the raw feeling of devastation pouring out of me. I would've known him. I could've had a relationship with him. Even behind bars. If only I'd believed him. But I didn't, and now… maybe I won't, ever.

"She's lied. For all you know she's been using Masen and spying on us. Feeding it back to him. Don't you think it's odd that of all the fuckin' people in the world, she's with one of your men? Huh?"

Alec's dismissive. "She's been around us for months and she's never done nothn' that made me think anythin' like that. I'm not a fuckin' idiot, Caius."

"And now she knows the truth. You're fuckin' wrong if you think she won't run all the way back to him!" he sneers. "No. I want Calagero to know everything-_everything_\- he's done has been in vain."

The venom, the hatred in his voice is biting, blinding. Time has done nothing to mellow it.

He paces for a minute.

"Where the fuck is Masen?"

"Here." His voice startles me as he steps forward out the shadows. To anyone else he's eerily composed, but I notice his hair in disarray, fists knuckle white at his sides, how unusually pale he is.

His eyes flicker to me and then back to Caius.

"Prove your loyalty to me," Caius demands. "Kill her."

My heart bottoms out as Alec swears.

"This is fuckin' pointless and you know it, it serves no purpose at all!"

"My patience is wearing thin, Alec, if you can't stand the heat, get the fuck out." He points to the door. Alec shuts up, nostrils flared. "Your choice, Masen. You either kill her yourself, nice and quick and clean, or I'm going to make her suffer. Fucked by anyone who wants a go, tortured 'til she breaks and then I'll be sending her in little pieces to Falcone."

I blanch, my eyes darting between them all.

Alec's shaking his head. Masen staring unblinkingly off into the distance. He inhales through his nose, looking up at me as I hang my head in disbelief.

Alec is right, this is fucked. Completely and utterly fucked.

"_How is this fair? I've not done anything wrong!_ _I was just a kid. Just a little kid!_"

"Life isn't fair," Caius says coldly. "Get on with it."

Alec's stood by Masen now, murmuring in his ear, placing black metal into his hand. Masen looks at the gun, weighing it up in his hand.

"Get the fuck OUT!" I hear Alec snap but I'm not concentrating on who or what he's talking to.

I'm concentrating on the feet moving towards me, slow and deliberate, and then Masen's stood right in front of me and I'm swaying unsteadily on my feet.

"Don't- don't let him do those things to me," I say, searching mournful dark eyes, my own shedding tears, thick and fast, voice breaking. "I don't want that- I can't go through that. I'd rather you-"

"Bella," he breathes, hopelessness in his voice that makes me cry harder. "I—this ain't right. I feel…" He sniffs, agonized. "It ain't supposed to be like this. _Fuck_."

His hand comes up to my face, running a thumb along my cheek, wiping away tears from swollen eyes before he leans in, lips warm and soft and tender on mine.

"I love you. So fuckin' much."

He lets the words linger against my mouth, so quiet I almost miss them, and when I look at him, there's a single, solitary tear falling and I know this is it.

This is goodbye.

It ends here.

There's no rescue, there's no heroics.

This is his test of loyalty to the De Luca name and if he fails, we both die.

It's better this way. I can't bear the alternative.

"You've gotta do it. For me. Please." My voice breaks, eyes finding the floor, shivering all over, flushing hot and cold and sick.

I raise my head, trying to wipe my eyes with my shoulder. Trying to think of what I need to say, what I need to tell him, before... But my brain isn't working. The only thing I know is that I love him, so I tell him just that.

"I love you too. I hope you know that. You've been so, so good to me, just - like you said."

He nods puffing out his cheeks, a long, slow exhale.

I leaning up on tiptoes. "Promise me you'll forgive yourself."

He slowly moves his head side to side. "How can I ever?" The despair in his voice makes my heart shatter. I choke back a sob as his eyes search mine before he kisses me one last time.

And it's everything.

Everything.

It's I love you, and it's I want you and it's I'll never let go.

It's goodbye.

He turns and walks away and I watch every step, crying so hard I can't see straight. Crying for us, crying for him, for all the things we never had.

_"I'm sorry, Papà_," I murmur under my breath, skyward, hoping he'll understand.

I wait. Tears dripping and staining concrete dark, my whole body shaking violently, my heart beating painful in my chest.

_Thud_.

A sharp inhale.

_Thud._

The sound of the safety being released.

_Thud_.

Faint noises in the background. Like fireworks.

_Thud._

The tremor of his hand.

_Thud_.

The tiniest of movements as he squeezes the trigger.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

One breath.

Two.

I blink slowly, high-pitched ringing in my ears, shouts and yells muffled, like everything's underwater.

"Move, Bella! Move!"

Dazed, the words don't register, an arm around my waist as my feet slip, red everywhere, the sound of fireworks louder now. I move but I'm not the one moving me.

The world spins and tilts; a body on the floor. Caius bleeding out onto grey concrete, bullet square between his eyes.

Not fireworks, I realize.

Guns.

"C'mon! C'mon!"

Familiarity guides me to a fire escape, checking up and down before we fly down it, my bare feet stinging on metal.

"That's it, almost there."

We're out into a back alley; shouts and footsteps thundering behind us, the ground tearing at my feet as we flee. Running, running, running, down one alley, and then another and another.

"Run! Run!"

We sprint, this way and that, dodging broken glass and rubbish, industrial size bins, pools of stagnant water and fuck knows what else until we hit a dead end, a tall chain-link fence stopping us going any further.

"Fuck."

He presses me gently against the wall, hidden away in dark shadows, his chest heaving against mine, the noise of mutual ragged intakes of air ripping through the shrill shrieking in my ears.

Pulling out a flick knife from somewhere, he slices through the cable tie that's rubbed my skin raw, red and bloody, around my wrists. I stare at the blood, sticky and smeared across pale olive skin.

"Bella. Look at me. Look at me."

A clammy hand on my face, Masen's own swimming as I look up, drowning in intense brown eyes.

My face screws up wanting to cry, because he looks so real, and I'm not sure whether this is.

I pinch myself hard, several times over, feeling each and every one.

"Hey, hey. It's gonna be OK. I'm gonna get you out of here, alright?"

I don't know who he's trying to convince, me or himself.

"Bella?" Masen tilts my chin up and I lick dry lips. "You OK?"

I shake my head, no. Shivering, shaking, shell-shocked.

Why am I not dead?

_Why am I not dead?_

"You were gonna—" I croak. "I thought—"

"Never. _Never_."

A finger presses against his lips, his head tilted. I don't hear what he's hearing at first, but then the sound of footsteps is unmistakable as someone gets closer, coming down the passage towards us at the same time fear crawls down my throat.

Raising his gun Masen steps out of the shadows, firing, measured and deliberate.

Shouts flare up in the distance.

"C'mon, you over first!"

He gestures to the fence and I stare at him wide-eyed.

"Bella, I swear, I'm gonna be right behind you."

For some reason it feels like I'm leaving him behind and I don't want to do that right now, but with the urgency in his voice, I don't hesitate for a second longer. He creates a step up with his hands interlocked, my bloody foot on his palms as he boosts me up, high.

Metal digs into my fingers and toes as I climb, gate rattling with the movement as I wobble at the top, completely ungraceful, as I swing my leg over and climb down. Masen has his back to me, gun raised once again, tense, focused on the end of the alleyway beyond.

I jab him through the wire fence, a finger between his shoulder blades.

He climbs it easily as if he's done it before, twisting his head to look behind him every few seconds. Landing quiet and cat-like, he reaches for my hand as a yell rings out behind us.

We start running again. The sound of the gate being scaled behind us.

"This way!"

My hair flowing behind me, my feet burning with pain, leg muscles protesting with every stride, as we fly into the open, across a gap to the next set of buildings.

We're being hunted down.

Like animals.

"Oh God," I pant a few minutes later, a stitch in my side, my throat hurting with every sharp intake of air. "I can't—I can't run anymore." I stop dead, my legs and lungs on fire, my heart feeling like it's about to explode in my chest. "I can't do it, you should've just... They're gonna—" I shake my head, tears clouding my eyes again, hand pressing against a head that's throbbing.

Masen turns back to me, wiping away sweat on his brow. "Nothin's gonna happen to you. I won't let it," he says fiercely, hands gripping either side of my arms, face close to mine, his jaw set in determination.

I sniff, brushing away tears, my voice small and pathetic when I whisper, "OK."

He looks down between us at my feet, bloodied and getting near impossible to run on.

"Jump up."

He crouches in front of me, lifting me with ease onto his back, as I wrap my arms around his neck, my thighs held by sweaty palms, skin on sweaty skin, but I can't bring myself to care.

We're a lot slower as he jogs his way further down the alley, pausing when he finds a doorway to a derelict building, setting me down gently.

He jimmies the lock with his knife before kicking it until the door springs open with a thud, throwing up dust, a pigeon flapping loudly, making me flinch.

Checking behind us and then inside, Masen enters the building gun first. The place is a huge old red brick warehouse, big windows to the front, broken and boarded up mostly. It's been left to go to rack and ruin, piles of rubbish and debris strewn over dusty dirty floors, disused machinery, oil drums and pallets lying around.

He closes the door firmly behind us before we move further into the building. Walking on the very tips of my toes offers some relief but none more so than sinking down onto an upturned crate, tiredness setting into my bones that makes me feel breathless and jumpy.

Taking out a burner from his pocket, Masen walks up to a clouded window, ducking his head and looking out both ways. My own finds my hands, feeling dizzy-sick, my mind glazing over as he speaks in hushed tones as I try and figure out what just happened.

_Why am I not dead?_

I feel a hand on my back, rubbing up and down my spine but my face remains hidden until he gently prises my hands away.

Before he can say anything, something clangs, somewhere, echoing.

My head flies up, panic dancing in the pit of my stomach once more.

Pressing his finger to his lips again, Masen leads me behind old gas bottle cages so we're not in plain sight.

"Gotta be here somewhere," a voice says seconds later. "There's fresh blood on this step."

"Masen, you fuckin' pussy!" Someone hollers, voice bouncing loudly, all around. "We're gonna find you and your girl and when we do I'm gonna make you watch while I tear her apart, y'know what I'm sayin'? Show her how a real man fucks."

My hand comes to my mouth to stop the whimper that wants to come out, Masen gripping my hand tighter.

Hardly daring to breathe, to move, to speak; the tension is palpable in the stillness. We can hear them moving around, banging on metal, dragging something along a wall so it clatters, ominously.

Masen checks the magazine of the gun, swearing under his breath, and then checks the cell again. "Need to get back outside," he whispers, warm on the cold tips of my ears.

We slowly creep towards another door down a small set of steps at the front of the warehouse, and I can just about see a grey open expanse of concrete between us and the lake beyond, water reflecting a dark and angry sky.

Masen's just got the door open when the sound of movement immediately behind us has him spinning in front of me, coiled like a spring, lunging as soon as the figure appears, his fists slamming over and over into a man I don't recognize. He overpowers him easily, on top of him in seconds, the element of surprise on his side but the other man is fighting back, struggling underneath him, getting in a few blows of his own.

I shrink away, fearful, as another figure appears behind them. "Masen!" His name leaves my lips in a terrified whisper.

The newcomer's focus isn't on them fighting though, it's focused solely on me.

Stepping into a patch of light, a predatory grin on his face is Royce.

And it hits me then.

It was him saying those things.

He comes at me, but I'm already fumbling with the door, running into daylight despite the agony in my feet.

I can hear him not far behind me, feet pounding concrete as I sprint towards shipping containers not too far away, zigzagging between them, in the shadows, assaulted by memories of James; that night Masen blew his kneecap out.

Pausing for breath up against the ribbed wall of a peeling blue container, I edge along it slowly before darting across a gap, container after container, trying to put distance between me and him.

"You think you're too good for me, huh, Princess?" Royce says, his voice closer than I want, his feet crunching on gritty ground as he searches for me. "I'm gonna show you what's good for you while my boy in there takes care of yours."

_Masen_. My stomach clenches painfully. That pull to be near him an ache in my chest, wanting - needing him to be OK.

I peek around a corner, a lock of hair hanging limply in front of my eyes. Brushing it away, a flash of black appears in my peripheral vision to my left but I'm not fast enough to move, dragged back, my scream muffled by a large hand clamping around my mouth, another snaking around my waist, pulling me against a chest that's not the right height, the feeling of a pudgy belly behind me.

"Don't scream, pretty girl. Let's have some fun, you and me, huh?"

_Royce_.

My hand claws at his, elbows flying back, screams muffled by his hand. He laughs in my ear.

"Fuck, I love it when bitches struggle. Such a turn-on."

The implication turns my stomach.

He's done this before.

He removes his hand from my mouth, and I'm screaming at him 'to let go,' 'get off,' 'stop,' as I feel the movements of fabric behind me, the sound of his zipper being pulled down.

"Shut up!" he growls in my ear.

I struggle desperately because I can't let this happen. I can't let it. I don't want it. I don't want him. His hand is everywhere, pulling at my dress as I stamp on his feet, elbows trying to hit him, twisting in his grip.

Running out of options, I bend forwards before slamming my head back into his, hard. The moment it connects with something that cracks, he lets go with a sharp grunt of pain.

Despite the dizziness, my vision blurred, I scramble away, fleeing. Chancing a hasty glance back I can see him giving chase, blood pouring from his nose.

I run faster, terrified, until I run out of solid ground, right on the edge of where it gives way to dark, swirling water below. I stop, horror crawling over me, realizing my mistake; trapped between Royce and the vast expanse of water with nowhere else to go.

Nowhere.

Somewhere in the distance I''m sure I can hear my name being called but Royce's twisted face is getting closer, so I do the only thing I can think of.

I jump.

I jump hoping the water isn't too shallow, hoping I remember how to swim, hoping the currents aren't too strong.

I'd rather drown then have him touch me.

I hold my breath, the impact of the water jolting, a gasp escaping as I meet freezing cold water, before I'm submerged, under, way down.

It takes me a couple of seconds, twisting this way and that, water hurting my eyes, lungs already screaming even though I know I can't come up for air just yet, in case he's waiting.

I think I hear faint voices again but I can't be sure. The need for oxygen becoming more and more urgent.

Counting out another twenty slow seconds, I kick up towards the light, breaking the surface and dragging deep lungfuls of air through salty tasting lips, treading water as I get my bearings.

I've drifted further out and I thankfully can't see Royce from where I am. What I can see is rusted metal rungs bolted into the wall a little ways along. My teeth chatter, my body numb from the water, arms and legs heavy with each stroke as I swim until my hand latches onto a rung. Holding myself there, I listen hard.

Water laps against the wall, the occasional seagull squawking, industrial sounds way off in the distance but other then that there's relative silence.

Fear clenches my stomach when I think of Masen, hoping to God he's OK, tearing up at the thought of him being hurt or worse.

Suddenly there's a series of distinctive shots echoing across the water. My free hand flies back to my mouth.

Not him, not him, not him. _Not him!_ I chant in my head until I realize I'm saying it out loud. I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting.

"Bella!" a voice shouts and then again.

My heart sinks because it's not the one I want to hear. It's not Masen. I'd recognize his voice.

I suck in a shuddery breath.

"BELLA!" The same voice shouts again, closer now.

I'm frozen. I don't want to move, scared.

"BELLA!"

_Masen_.

His voice now calling me frantically. "BELLA?"

"We gotta go, man." It's Ben's voice, urgent.

"Not without her," Masen snarls. "BELLA!" he shouts again.

I haul myself up the first couple of rungs, feet slipping on slimy gunk that's attached itself to the lower rails, water dripping down my legs, wet hair plastered to my face and neck as I climb. Each rung an effort.

"Here!" I want to scream, but I can't. I just don't have the energy.

"If Royce was tellin' the truth, if she went in the lake, man, the currents, the rip—"

"There!"

I can hear the sound of running feet moving towards me, warm hands hauling me up the last rung, onto solid ground, my whole body shivering violently.

"Shit. Take your shirt off," Masen says hurriedly to Ben, undoing his own, blood smeared on his knuckles, dripping from a split brow. "Your dress is gonna have to come off, you're fuckin' blue. Need to get you warm." He looks at me as he shrugs out of his shirt.

When I don't move, he does it for me, peeling it off. He pulls his shirt around me, buttoning it up and then doing the same with Ben's. Hands rubbing up and down my arms, and sides trying to create warmth as he pulls me to him, against his bare chest, cradling me. He's talking, whispering things but I'm too cold to take it in, just loving the feel of him holding me.

It vaguely registers that Ben's disappeared and Masen has black metal held in one hand, ready, his other not letting me go. Not long after a familiar black beamer pulls up, engine revving as Ben shouts at us to hurry up. Masen shoves us in the back, pushing me into the footwell as he reaches for another gun on the passenger seat.

There's more commotion now, around us. He discharges the gun a couple of times before slamming the door.

"Go, go, go! Fuckin' drive, Ben!"

"Shit!" Ben murmurs, slumping low in his seat just before bullets fly at the windscreen. I flinch, tucking my head between my arms, Masen warm above me covering my body with his.

Ben floors it as windows crack, and glass smashes, tires screeching. The car spins before it slows and then we're off, travelling away at high speed, air rushing and shuddering through shattered glass.

...

The engine ticks over as Masen slowly extracts himself from me, getting out of the car, the sound of glass tinkling onto the ground with him, crunching underfoot as he moves towards the faded red shutter of a large garage.

The shutter goes up, the car edging forwards into darkness before it rolls down behind us again, bolts being slid across.

Harsh yellow lights flicker on, the car door opening. More glass falling out to the floor as Masen helps me out. Brushing damp hair off my face, checking me over everywhere.

"She OK?" I hear Ben ask over my shoulder, slamming the car door shut, more glass shattering on the floor. He stands there, half-naked, looking uncomfortable.

"I'm OK," I say, voice scratchy, trying to focus on Masen again.

I can't focus on his face though, the world spinning, my head so woozy, black around the edges.

And then there's nothing.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

There's warmth behind me as I startle, eyes fluttering open and closed, tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth, parched. I sit bolt upright, flailing for something to tell me where I am.

"Hey," Masen says softly behind me. "It's OK. You're safe."

My panic eases as I look around, finding myself on a small worn leather sofa underneath a pile of blankets.

We're in a small office, the window telling me we haven't left the garage. The pits are visible from here, three or four cars parked beyond the bullet-ridden beamer.

My gaze settles on Masen, sat beside me now, worry etched onto his face. There's blood-streaked down it, his eyebrow split open. "Here. You gotta be starving, you passed out."

He's got a cereal bar and a bottle of water in his hands and I take them off him gladly, chugging the water and breaking up the cereal bar into bite-sized pieces.

"You're hurt." I reach for his face with a trembling hand, fingers finding stubble, dark circles underneath his eyes.

"It's nothin'."

I drop my hand and look down at my blood-smeared feet, not liking the way my cheek feels tender when I chew and, despite not eating anything in a while, I have to force myself to swallow.

Masen's eyes follow mine to my feet, lingering on my wrists. "Ben's gettin' some stuff to fix us up. Clothes and shit for us."

_Fix us up._

My mind skips back, to being stood in front of Caius. His voice when he demanded Masen kill me. A shudder runs up my spine, the food tasting like cardboard in my mouth. Snatches of him telling me to 'play nice' repeating in my head. I shake it, trying to concentrate on the chewing, afraid to let my mind wander any further than counting how many times it takes for me to be able to swallow.

Masen reaches out for my hand, his warm palm against mine, squeezing reassurance. I look up at him, glassy-eyed, feeling like I could fall apart at any minute, and see if reflected right back at me for once.

His gaze doesn't waver from mine, mouth opening, pulling to make words and then going slack again as he struggles, jaw trembling. He buries his head in his free hand, crumbling.

I'm in motion; wrapping my arms around him, running a hand through sweaty, messed up hair, crawling into his lap as he moves his face to the crook of my neck.

Hands curl into me, gripping me tightly, dampness falling onto my skin.

There's something about Masen crying that makes me cry too.

"It's OK," I whisper, through tears, kissing every part of his face he allows me to see. "We're OK."

His arms tighten, holding me closer still.

"I love you." I pull his face to look at me, tear tracks fresh on his cheeks.

"Fuck," he says with a little laugh, shaking his head, sniffing, blinking, embarrassed. "I thought I was gonna lose you—I thought—"

My mouth finds his and I kiss him like it's the first time, to erase the last time, because this isn't goodbye.

_This isn't goodbye._

"I can't fuckin' stand the thought of it. Of what almost happened."

I move his hair off his forehead, pushing myself harder against him.

"But we're together and we're here and that's all that matters. That's all that matters, right now."

His lips feather kisses over my face before my head finds his chest, his heart still beating too fast as he strokes his hand through semi-damp, tangled hair, brushing out the knots with his fingers.

"I'd do anythin' for you," he says quietly as I slowly start to drift again. And I know now more than ever that that's the truth.

...

My eyes flutter open at the sound of low voices. Raising my head off sticky faux leather my muscles cry with every little movement, my head pounding, feet throbbing.

Four sets of eyes swivel my way as I sit up stiffly, shaking out a numb hand, unfurling aching legs slowly.

Alec is the first to speak, unfazed and unruffled as ever.

"_Princess_," he says, hands in his pockets as icy blue eyes sweep over me. "_Glad you're awake_."

I eye him warily, uncomfortable that he's seen me at my most vulnerable, that he knows I've heard things he probably wishes I hadn't.

He smiles when I grimace. _Princess_. Urgh. "_Gotta face up to the facts, Doll. That's what you are in this world, _Principessa_. Had I known, I'd have been less… what's the word? Uncouth." _

"_So_... _you'd have just hidden how much of an asshole you are?_" I say, voice feeling scratchy and hoarse. "_Great. Don't start now._"

Masen snorts, coming over to sit next to me, arm draping around my shoulders. I lean into him, the weight of his arm around me comforting, breathing him in as I move my head to rest on his bare chest again, hand wandering over his stomach.

Where was Alec when we were running for our lives?

Alec shrugs, his lips curling. "I'm just sayin'... I didn't see that one comin', y'know? A Falcone," he shakes his head. "A mafia princess right under my nose and I didn't have a fuckin' clue."

"Yeah, well," I trail off and look at Demetri, sat on the desk in front of CCTV monitors, his hands clasped in front of him, gnarly face set serious.

"You're here," I say almost accusingly, surprised.

"Your fella called me the moment you were taken outta that place," he nods at Masen.

I look up at Masen who runs a hand through his hair. "You did?"

"I remembered what you said. Demetri's been… helpful."

They exchange a look and I frown, trying to piece together bits because I'm not sure exactly what happened, or how Demetri's involved.

My head pulses painfully.

"There Tylenol or something? My head is killing me."

Ben rustles in a plastic bag, bringing out painkillers, handing them to me with some water.

"What happened to your head?"

"Royce," I mutter throwing back a couple of pills and taking a large sip.

There's a beat of silence, the weight of expectation for me to explain... but I don't. Not quite meeting anyone's eyes. My fingers find a button, fiddling with it as I try not to think of the way his hand felt clamped over my mouth, or the way he groped my tits, or the sound of his fly being undone, his breath on the back of my neck. I swallow thickly, taking another gulp of water not missing the dark look that passes between Masen and Ben.

Demetri clears his throat.

"Spoke to your old man not too long ago," he says. "He's happy you're OK, but I think that goes without saying. Wants you to talk to him. When you're feeling up to it."

I open my mouth and close it again. I don't think this topic is much better. What would I even say to him? Sorry doesn't seem enough. Nowhere near enough.

"And you. Wants words with you too." He jerks his head at Masen.

Alec laughs, leaning forward and punching him lightly in the shoulder. "Good luck with that. Remember what he's just done to the ex."

Masen scratches the back of his neck, uncomfortable.

"Sure," he says, looking anything but.

Conversation continues without much input from me. I sit and listen to them talking so casually about what happened; it makes me feel sick.

Who's dead?

Who's alive?

Who might be a problem?

The nausea grows stronger the more I think about all the things Caius said about Papà. What he's done to other people, what he's done to James.

And then I think about what Masen's involved with. The seriousness of it slaps me in the face, my stomach rolling.

Masen glances at me with a frown as I stiffen under his arm and stand rapidly on wobbly legs, ignoring the stinging of my feet, swaying as lightheadedness hits.

"Bathroom?"

I throw up as soon as the door closes, cereal bar coming back up, bile tearing at an already sore throat.

Rinsing my mouth out, over and over, I stare at myself in a tiny mirror above the sink, speckled black with age. There's the slightest bruise to my cheek, a hollowness in my eyes, that sticky, salty seawater feeling on my skin. There's a tiny shower and I vaguely contemplate having one but instead I sit on the closed toilet lid, picking at my nails, thinking. Struggling, with everything.

The weight of words that ripped through the fabric of what I knew to be true, harsh and unremorseful.

Caius wanted us all dead, but he wanted Papà to suffer the most. And he has. A dead wife, an estranged daughter. But he thought of me first. He pleaded guilty to keep me safe. Nonna safe. He gave up his life so I could live and all I did was throw it back in his face, screaming at him that I hated him. That I knew exactly what type of man he was.

And now I know exactly what type of man Masen is. They're one and the same and I'm not sure how to feel.

I inhale sharply.

The fact I almost died at his hands. And I can't help but love him despite knowing what he's done. What he is.

"Bella?" Masen's muffled voice comes through the door. "Ben got you some stuff. We're gonna have to make a move soon."

I open the door reluctantly, standing on the tip of my toes, trying to alleviate the pain, teeth gritted.

"You OK?" he asks, handing me a bag of things. I jerkily nod my head, trying to close the door but he stops me by placing his foot in the way. My hands retreat inside the sleeves of the shirts. "You're worryin' me."

I swallow, conflicting emotions warring with each other.

"Talk to me?" Masen says stepping in, closing the door behind him. "Please."

"Just… this was never—I don't…" I flounder. He steps forward, but I step back. Stopping still, his face twists in confusion.

"I'd never hurt you, y'know that, right?" he asks, deadly serious as he steps back, head tilting against the door.

"I know. I know that," I breathe. "It's just… just... you killed him, right? Caius?"

He's wary now, cautious, but he nods slowly.

I hear it in my head. The first shot, followed by the second, the feeling of something passing just over my head.

"Isn't it fucked up?" I whisper. "That you did that for me?"

I study him, his reactions, the realization hitting him. This is what he's been hiding; not involving me with this part of his life. And maybe I did have an idea but now I _know._ I don't know how to feel.

My boyfriend is a killer.

And yet I've never loved anyone more.

"It was him or you," Masen says, unapologetic. "I'd do it again. I'd have done it sooner. Trust me, I wanted to."

He sinks down slowly, so he's sat on the floor, like he's surrendering to me, like he wants to show he's not a threat.

"This is—this is who I am, Bella," he says, looking at his hands. There's a waver in his voice. "I made choices when I was younger and I gotta live with it. I gotta do what I'm told. I owed Alec. A lot of the time that involves doin' shit I'm not proud of."

"But… killing people? How do you live with yourself?" I say, the words harsher than I mean them.

He flinches, rubbing his face like he's trying to get rid of the tar he's branded with. "People… You heard the phrase 'live by the sword, die by the sword?' It's like that… sometimes it's kill or be killed. It's kinda expected in this business. It is what it is. None of those people were good people… but I ain't either."

I'm silent, staring at him in the dim light, sitting back down on the toilet, bringing my thumb up to bite at fraying skin around my nail. His shoulders slump as he watches me, sadness creeping in.

"This is why you deserve better than me. I'm the asshole who couldn't leave you the fuck alone. If I had, none of this would've happened. I've put you in danger as much as I've tried to—to save you from it. That's the fuckin' truth. You'd be better off without me and I know it. I knew it then. I told you."

He gets up and walks over to me, getting on his knees, taking my hand in his. I'm not sure what he's trying to tell me, but it doesn't feel good.

"Caius… There's been plans for a while to get rid... he's been a fuckin' liability for too long. Alec wanted to head up the family, wanted my help I—I named my terms…. Said I'd do it if I was allowed to get out. Go legit, no reprisals. It wasn't… I've held up my end. I'm out. We can go anywhere you want, live without me doin' this shit."

A distant memory stirs; a conversation between Alec and Masen I accidentally overheard months and months ago.

"I overheard that," I confess.

But go? Go where? I frown, chewing on my thumb before removing it, running a hand through crusty feeling hair.

"Go where?"

"Anywhere you wanna go. Demetri was talkin' about a couple of places your Dad still has… Arizona or Washington State, maybe. We gotta get you out of Chicago anyway. It ain't safe."

"Arizona?"

God, I miss the desert heat and proper, proper sunshine.

Masen smiles faintly. "Yeah."

My mind buzzes, a little spark of excitement at the thought but… I look at him and it makes my heart hurt. This man, what he's done for me, how much I feel for him, how much I want for him to not be caught up in all this mafia bullshit. How much I wish I wasn't caught up in it either.

I should be horrified, running for the hills... any normal person would, wouldn't they?

But I've never been normal, and that pull I feel for Masen is stronger than ever. I wanted him then and I want him now, despite everything. I can't imagine my life without him in it and I don't want to.

"I love you," he whispers, tugging at his hair. "I love you and I should've told you long before all of this happened. But… Fuck. Don't—"

I bring my finger to his lips, stopping him.

"Promise me no more of this stuff," I plead, tears crowding my eyes. "Promise you mean it?"

My face is suddenly cradled between his hands "I promise you. I promise on my life, B. You and me, baby. And as normal as we can fuckin' get. I promise."

A tear rolls and he catches it, swiping it away with a thumb as I stare into eyes that beg. Beg for this. For us.

"When can we leave?"

The relief on his face is instant, he leans in, his mouth hot on mine, despite my half-hearted protests, because I feel gross.

He kisses me anyway.

...

The shower is nothing to write home about. It's pathetically low pressured, more of a dribble than anything else but I'm so glad to wash the blood, sweat, and grime off my skin, I can deal with it. Masen helps to wash the shampoo out, his mouth finding my neck, hands smoothing over my bruised hip.

"You're always takin' care of me." My lips find his, fingers tangling in his wet hair, before pulling back and touching his eyebrow, gently scrubbing at dried blood.

"Cus you're trouble. I called it, remember?"

I remember that morning at the pier; it makes me smile. He brings me closer but I'm covering my chest with my arm still. He frowns down at me. "Don't hide from me, these ain't nothing to be ashamed of. You're fuckin' stunning." His thumbs brush the underside of each breast.

"Felt mortified."

"Ben had to stop me," he admits. "Was ready to cave his head in and the rest of those fuckers. Shooting him was too good. Just couldn't risk it."

His lips are almost on mine again when the water turns icy cold.

I shriek, a shuddering gasp and switch it off hurriedly, spluttering.

There's no towels but Ben picked up a few clothes for me; leggings and a cheesy slogan t-shirt, even some boy short panties and a hoodie. I stifle a laugh at the thought of Ben buying this stuff for me as I pull them on, wincing. He even bought me hair ties.

They fit loose and baggy but I'm just grateful to be wearing something other than those shirts.

...

I'm quiet when we're back in the office, Masen cleaning and bandaging up my feet, talking with Demetri, Alec, and Ben about what happens next. I don't have the inclination to join in, I can't think that far ahead just yet.

The truth is all I want to do is isolate myself with Masen. It all feels like a bad dream; a nightmare I've woken up from, but the deep welts around my wrists are all I need to remind myself that it wasn't.

I busy myself tidying up Masen's eyebrows and fists instead, listening.

We've got to leave Chicago, there's no question about that. We can't go back to Maria's or Masen's, apparently the cops are all over this like a rash, so we literally have to flee with the clothes on our backs and nothing else.

Demetri is going to come with us, tailing us to make sure no one else is. The problem is, I'm not sure whether I can trust him yet, and I'm not entirely sure I wholly trust Alec, either, even if he tried to get his uncle to stop.

Alec and Ben finally make to leave, pulling Masen to the side, talking seriously with him.

Demetri distracts me with random questions. I answer monosyllabically, not quite in the mood, still concentrating on watching their mouths move, trying to lipread, but failing miserably.

Alec draws Masen in and slaps him on the back as they walk back towards where I'm sat.

"Brother, you've been at my side for what? Fourteen? Fifteen years? It's been wild," Alec says, bumping his fist into Masen's slapping him on the back. "I'll be in touch."

He turns to me and I hate the way he scrutinises me from head to toe. He puts his hand in his pocket bringing out my driving license, offering to me.

I take it from him, staring at it for a beat too long, a drop of blood on it. Whose, I don't know.

"_You take care now, Doll. Keep my boy on his toes, yeah?_"

"I'm, _thanks for this_," I tell him. "_And for… for trying to stop your uncle._"

He appraises me.

"You know… if my uncle and your old man hadn't fallen out, we'd have probably been forced together, y'know? Married off."

"Alec," Masen says, warningly, wrapping an arm around me, a possessiveness there that I've not seen before.

"What? It's how our families work," Alec grins.

I choose to ignore him.

"Can you—I don't know whether you and Maria actually talk at all but can you let her know I'm OK?" I ask him. "Can you ask her to tell Char, too? And to take the blue bag from underneath my bed and keep it safe?"

Alec looks amused for a second. "Hiding bodies, Doll?"

I smile weakly. "Sorta."

Ben gives me a nod when I look at him. "Bella."

"Ben."

He fist-bumps Masen, shaking his head.

"Never thought I'd see the day, bro. You sure she's worth it?"

Masen looks at me and smiles, ignoring the teasing and replying with a sincerity that makes me feel warm. "Yeah, man. She is."

...

We leave the garage not long after, taking one of the other cars, a much more low key silver Pontiac. Masen telling me we need to make a couple of stops before we get properly on the road.

The first takes us to his brother's house. He leaves me in the car with the engine running, coming back with his own cell two minutes later.

I give him a funny look but I don't ask, too tired to even want to know.

The next stop is a little way out of Chicago, in Evanston. It's affluent, for the most part, big wide spaces between neatly kept properties. He pulls up outside a house with a white picket fence, painted a dark grey-blue with neater than neat flowerbeds.

"Where are we?" I ask with a yawn.

"You'll see."

He helps me out the car before carrying me to the porch, setting me down and kissing me soundly before he presses the doorbell. I've got flip flops on, cushioned by bandages, the pain dulled with more painkillers.

A girl with curly hair and glasses opens the door, a little cross necklace hanging from a lilac turtleneck. It doesn't escape my notice the way her cheeks pink when she sees it's Masen and I can't help but tighten my hold on his hand.

"Um, hi, Masen. Wasn't expecting you today," she says, shyly.

"Hey, Angela. Sorry, I should've called ahead," he apologizes. She smiles, eyes sliding to me.

"Sorry, where are my manners? I'm Angela. It's nice to meet you…?"

"Bella," I greet, giving her a polite smile as I shake her extended hand, pushing insecurities away.

"Bella—oh!" she says in recognition. "The girlfriend! You've no idea how much his Mom's been wanting to meet you—she's in the summer house!" Angela says waving us through the door.

"She having a good day?" Masen asks.

"Yup, she's really good today. I'll stick the kettle on, tea? Coffee?"

My eyes widen. He's brought me to meet his mom?

"Masen—" I'm pulling at his arm a little as Angela disappears. I want to tell him I don't feel like doing this right now but I stop myself because he might not get a chance to see her again after this. And after everything he's done, because of me, _for _me, I shut that thought out.

I take a breath, anxious, but then smile. "You want me to meet your mom?"

I've never really met a boyfriend's parents before. James was a product of the system, bouncing around foster families, living by himself when I met him. Anyone else was so casual it didn't warrant it.

Masen rubs my arm. "I know not the best timin' but I want you both to meet. I dunno when we're next going to be here, so..."

"Just look at the state of us though. What's she gonna think?" I sweep a hand between us.

"She won't care," Masen shrugs. "She ain't like that."

Masen's mom, Elizabeth, turns when we enter the glass-roofed room at the back of the house and just for a second, I still because it's obvious to anyone that she was badly hurt at some point. Her face is disfigured; skin burnt waxy; wispy auburn hair on one side of her head; the other pretty much bald, a colourful silk scarf tied around it.

She's working on an easel, painting some kind of abstract picture with swathes of color splashed across the canvas.

Her arms come out to give Masen a hug, gripping his bicep and looking at his busted face for a second.

"What have you been doing?!" she scolds, in that motherly tone that makes me a little wistful.

Masen brushes it off, kissing her cheek. She lets it go easily and I guess she must be used to him. She finally looks at me and her face brightens.

"Is this Bella?" she says looking between us, Masen smiles broadly, arm coming around me.

"Hi," I greet, feeling wholly out of my depth. "That's me."

"Finally! Took you long enough," she jibes playfully at Masen.

We take a seat on wicker chairs, sun streaming in overhead and I watch Elizabeth fascinated. The way she breathes warmth in her words to Masen, her obvious love for her son. I don't know whether it's because I haven't been around a mother figure in years but I sit and watch her with rapt attention.

Angela brings in tea and coffee and disappears as I field awkward questions about my feet with half-truths. There's a surrealness to being civil and polite after the past few days, having to think on my feet with a brain that's not quite working right. Running, I tell her as Masen runs fingers up and down my arm encouragingly.

I take a big gulp of tea as Masen hesitates beside me.

"Mom, there's… Bella and me are goin' away for a bit. She's had a lot goin' on lately so we wanna get away from Chicago," he tells her. "Not sure where we'll end up or for how long."

She looks between us, understanding passing. " Oh bless you. Of course, all that stress with the court case can't have been easy for you. When are you going? Will you be around for your birthday?"

Masen shakes his head. "Leavin' today. Just wanted to see you before we head out."

Elizabeth takes it in her stride after the initial surprise has worn away.

"Well, you've always done exactly what you wanted!" she says, her tone light. "You best keep in touch though, not like when you went off last fall. Didn't hear from you for weeks. Worried me sick."

Masen promises we'll try and it only makes me feel more guilty that we're having to leave because of me. He disappears, leaving me and his mom alone.

Elizabeth takes my hand, her hands cool to the touch, a little too smooth on one hand.

"I hope he's treating you right," she says, echoes of Carlisle in her tone, as her eyes roam my face.

I smile genuinely. "He does. You don't have to worry about that. He's the best."

She lowers her voice conspiratorially.

"He came to me on a Saturday months and months ago. Hungover. Little boy lost. 'There's this girl,' he told me. 'I messed up, Ma.' Knew you were special then, he's never come to me with girl problems before, so I just _knew_ you were different. Thought he'd blown it; didn't think that you weren't going to give him the time of day again. Told him a big gesture would go a long way to winning you over. Let her know how you feel, I said."

I flush a little, heat curling in my stomach. He let me know how he felt alright, mostly with his dick, but I wasn't going to tell her that.

"He showed up to give me a lift home from work." I can't help the smile that curls at my lips, as I remember seeing him there. "Asked me whether he could take me out. I didn't take much persuading. He was never far from my thoughts, after doing so much for me. Helping me with my ex… you don't forget people who go out of their way like that. He still does."

"You don't," Elizabeth agrees, beaming. "I'm glad he was there when you needed help. A big softie at heart, really. Always was until his father... well, until his father did what he did."

I swallow, looking her over, feeling like my past situation pales in comparison to her own. I utter something like that but she tells me every experience is valid, that we're all survivors.

I mull this over. _Survivor_. I like the term much more than victim, that's for sure.

Masen returns at that moment, a holdall slung over one shoulder.

"Ready?"

...

My bandaged feet are up on the dash, the window cracked open as we drive further and further away from Chicago. Goodbyes were short and sweet, promises made that I'm not sure we'll be able to keep but I hope we can. I liked his Mom, and I only wish he'd taken me to meet her before now.

My eyebrows draw together as we pass a sign. "I thought we were goin' down the 57?" It's what had been said, back in the garage.

Masen looks over at me.

"Nah, I wanna take you somewhere else first."

"Does Demetri know about this?"

"Well, he does now." He glances in his rearview mirror and I instinctively swivel to look behind us.

"He's in the black Volvo, two cars back. And he ain't stupid, I don't think for a minute he believed what I told Alec and Ben."

It's then I realize, despite everything, Masen doesn't trust Alec or Ben either.

I fall asleep somewhere after Rockford, waking up with the fleeting snatch of a bad dream, chased away with consciousness.

Masen slides a hand over to mine, a hush on his lips. He tells me it's OK. I drink water, breathing deep.

"You ever think it might not be?"

He's said that a lot over the last few days. That it's OK. Mostly for my benefit but I wonder whether he actually believes that it will. That we'll be OK, after everything.

"You gotta hope…. I'm just glad you're here with me right now," he says. "I wanna believe we're gonna have an easier time of it though."

I listen to the rumble of the engine for a little while, the radio straining to be heard over it. "Sorry you got dragged into all my shit." I bring my lip between my teeth, tilting my head back.

"There's nothin' to apologize for."

"I could've told you sooner. About everything, my family. Who I am. It's funny you know, when he made me say who I was it felt wrong. Weird. I've never used that name. Like, ever."

"Isabella Falcone?"

"Isabella Marie Falcone," I correct him. "But I've been Bella for as long as I remember. Guess why my Papà chose it. Y'know, at four it wasn't too confusin' suddenly having a completely different name."

I pause, changing the radio stations as the one we listen to gets fuzzy, settling on something playing Guns N' Roses.

"Just wish bad stuff would stop happenin'. All this mafia crap."

Masen chokes on a laugh. "Mafia crap?"

I pull a face at him. "I know as much about the mafia as like, what went on in _The Sopranos_."

Masen proper belly laughs, my cheeks heating. "You serious? Never googled nothin'?"

"Too scared after I read my Papà's case. I was never brought up with that stuff, not like Alec probably was," I say defensively. "Even if Papà is who he is, Nonna was so normal… you'd never even think it… I didn't… everything was normal 'til I started questioning things, and all that's ever done is cause a fuck ton of problems… so yeah, _The Sopranos_."

I reach into the bag for some more painkillers just as Masen's hand finds my thigh, squeezing.

"Fuckin' cute as shit. I'll give you a proper education, Princess."

"Don't you start with that princess crap too," I huff, taking a gulp of water and downing the tablets.

For the next two hours, Masen gives me a 101 lesson on the inner workings of the mafia.

When I ask about what he does and how he ended up involved, he goes quiet.

"Not today," he says, heavily. "Another time."


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

Two weeks, two cars, two states, seven different towns; dingy motel after dingy motel, sleepless night after sleepless night.

I'm restless and listless.

This wasn't what I imagined when Masen said _normal_.

One thing I'm sure of is that I couldn't ever live a nomadic lifestyle like this as a permanent thing; I need a place to call home. I need routine; structure, a job, home-cooked food...

Masen says soon, and it can't come quick enough.

Instead, I'm dwelling, thinking and thinking about the 'what if's' and 'might've been's' that haunt every sleepless minute and every minute of sleep.

Sometimes it's like I'm right back there, in that warehouse, about to lose my life.

And, even though he won't admit to it, I think Masen is more affected than he lets on.

It's in the way he barely leaves my side, how he startles out of sleep, hands searching me out. His paranoia about being followed; reprisals for leaving a family he swore an oath to that have seen us swap the car out twice and zig-zag across states never staying in the same place too long.

Being confined to four walls and a car with each other almost every hour of every day has also inevitably lead to bickering about nothing and everything.

Alone with weird salmon pink walls and dark floral curtains that are screaming to be in an eighties B-rated horror movie, I'm left glaring at the dark wood door he's just disappeared out of following an argument that started over something so petty, I can't even remember what it was.

He won't have gone far; probably chain-smoking outside whilst the pretty blonde at reception flirts with him. She's been all over him ever since we checked in three days ago, eyeing me like I'm unworthy of him.

She's probably right.

We've argued about her too.

My fingernails curl into my palms at the thought, jealous.

Time passes and a feeling of wrong-doing sets in, anger and annoyance subsiding. I exhale loudly, huffily, not concentrating on the TV I've switched on to fill the silence.

I don't want him to regret this. Me. Us. His choice to leave everything he knows. I need to snap out of this mood, not just for him, but for me too. I'm sick of myself just as much as he must be.

I'm living and breathing, and we're together.

I'm alive, that's what's important.

I shower, blow drying my hair with a hairdryer I found hidden in one of the drawers under the wardrobe. It smells funny and sounds even worse. The cheap red polish I picked up from a gas station is next. It's watery and takes three coats but when I've finished, I at least feel a bit more human, a bit more like myself. I inspect my face in the mirror, bruise completely faded, pale, slightly freckled olive skin and tired eyes. I still haven't gotten any makeup but I'm not going anywhere so, it doesn't really matter.

Keys jangle in the lock, the door opening and closing, the sound of it locking once more. I find him in the mirror, leaning against the door, hands in hoodie pockets. He's still for a minute as I brush through my hair again, his eyes roving over black underwear and naked flesh.

I've put on a little weight from two weeks of sitting, letting my feet heal up, and it's showing on my belly and my hips. I try not to feel self-conscious but I reach for a top anyway, a wistfulness for pole and yoga and being rushed off my feet at work.

Cold hands make me stop, one sliding around my waist, drawing me against him, nuzzling his face into my neck his newly grown beard tickling.

"I'm sorry," I tell him, "I'm being such a bitch. I just—I feel all over the place."

"I know."

"You know I'm a bitch? Or..."

He looks at me in the mirror from underneath his hair. "That you're all over the place. I'm sorry. I get it."

I hum as he places kisses all down my neck, my hand finding his, moving it from my waist down, pushing it to where I want it, fingers toying with simple black lace.

"Please," I beg, meeting his eyes in the mirror. "_Please_."

His fingers dance, a swipe of his tongue, teeth grazing against my neck; a soft whimper escaping my mouth. He's hesitating and I hate that. He's been holding off on this and it's been driving me crazy because I don't understand why.

"Please," I whisper again, pushing on his hand again, desperate for something. "Feel like you don't want me anymore."

He tuts in my ear like I'm supposed to know better.

I watch our reflection as both his hands find my panties, pushing them down off my hips, before one hand finds hot, slick flesh.

There's heat in his eyes, a shakiness in his breath as he moves his hand over me, in me, one finger then two rhythmically pushing in and out, curling, a thumb on my clit, until I'm moving my hips searching for more, desperately, embarrassingly close already. My head lolls back against his shoulder.

"Look at yourself when you come," he says, roughly in my ear.

I do what he says. I think I look stupid as I let go, but one look at him; lips parted, eyes heavy, tells me he doesn't.

"Fuckin' beautiful," he murmurs, biting my ear.

I'm turning in his arms, knees hitting brown carpet, dragging his sweats and boxers down, mouth finding his cock, hard, ready.

"How can you think I don't want you?" he says, a hand finding my hair, pulling at it with a sharp inhale and a slow elongated "fuuuck" as I take all of him in my mouth.

I don't reply, enjoying how he responds to me until he tells me he's not going to last if I carry on like that. He lets me anyway, until he's sudden and decisive in his movements, pulling me to my feet, lifting me onto the dresser, feverish open mouth kisses all over as he nudges my legs apart, pushing in, making me gasp. It's been too long. Far too long, and I've missed this, him.

Large hands heavy on my waist, my own steadying myself on the dresser, a primal urgency takes over as he pounds into me, over and over again. The dresser rattles, his hands tighten. He's rougher than normal, and I like it. I want it. I'm telling him exactly that, to fuck me. I don't want gentle; I want to feel this tomorrow. His hands move me, pulling me towards him with every thrust, the dresser rocking against the wall, my moans swallowed.

He stutters 'I love you' as he makes me come with him. His body shuddering, the intensity of the feeling that washes over me makes me giggle before it turns into crying, and then another laugh; happy and sad all at the same time.

"You OK?" he pants. "Fuck, I didn't—"

"I'm fine," I nod, wiping away tears. "Just intense. I missed you." He presses my head into his sweaty chest, a kiss to the crown.

We stay like that until he carries me over to the bed, covering us in rough sheets before propping himself up on one arm.

"Hi," I whisper.

"Hi."

He smiles and I mirror him in quiet, blissed-out satisfaction, a feeling of intimacy restored.

He asks me the question again that I haven't answered.

"You haven't touched me like that in weeks, not since… before," I tell him, self-conscious, insecure, gazing at the ceiling rather than him.

"Bella," he shakes his head, hand finding my face, a finger tracing the curve of my hairline. "Wanted you to have some time, after everythin', didn't wanna push you. Royce layin' his filthy hands on you..." His nose flares, his jaw clenched.

He hates he wasn't there to stop him from grabbing me; he hates it more, that he didn't make him suffer more before he shot him dead, too.

Suddenly there's loud shouting from the room next door to us, the sound of something crashing against the wall. I jump out of my skin, clutching bedsheets to me, heart thundering.

We look at each other before Masen scrambles out of bed, pulling his sweats and boxers back on.

"Where are you goin'?" I ask, panicked.

"We ain't staying here," he tells me. "Can't fucking stand this place. Get dressed."

...

"I think I'm going to call him today."

Masen glances up from the newspaper he's reading, lowering it, as I busy myself buttering a slice of toast.

We're three days into a stay at a lake view hotel in Yellowstone National Park and I'm feeling a lot more upbeat. Being surrounded by vast swathes of green seems to have given me the refresh that I need. A natural reset button.

The past few mornings have seen us getting up early, going for walks in fresh air before having breakfast in the hotel sunroom, sitting and reading in the sunshine, going on even longer walks in the afternoon. I've even squeezed in some yoga and the peace I find with that has me wondering why I haven't been doing it before now.

We've spent this morning in bed; slow, lazy sex, followed by room service delivering breakfast to our suite. Masen has splashed out on an entire week here. It's his birthday on Friday and this is a celebration of sorts.

He slides a hand over the table to me, weaving his fingers with mine.

"Yeah? You mean it this time or you just gonna chicken out again?"

I've been saying I'm going to call Papà for the past week, ever since Masen spoke to him. I didn't feel ready then, but now it's all I can think about at night when I'm wide awake unable to sleep. I know I need to get it over with. Tick it off the list, take another step forward. But…

I pull my hand away, reaching for the strawberry jelly. "I haven't spoken to him in like, nine years. It's a big deal." A strong surge of guilt fills my chest as I speak.

"It'll be fine. He's alright."

He's refused to tell me anything about his talk with Papà, his mouth pulling into a terse line whenever I bring it up, pressing for details.

"What were you supposed to think? A jury convicted him, right? I'd have felt the same," he continues, shrugging and I feel a rush of love for him for trying to make me feel better.

Standing up, I lean across the table, planting a kiss on his lips.

"Thank you."

I pull back, biting my lip, mind wandering to his birthday and what the hell I can do for him.

"What's wrong?"

"Just thinkin' about your birthday. I can't get you anything and it feels really shitty," I admit, sitting down again, taking a bite of toast.

I've got no access to my bank account, no access to any money apart from what Masen has in the holdall he bought from his Mom's.

A 'just in case fund' he called it, but he's told me there's just shy of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in there and there's nothing 'just in case' about that at all. My gut says that money is dirty or bloody, or both.

"I don't care about stuff. It's just stuff. You being with me is enough. If you feel that bad, we'll go into town or somethin'. You buy me what you want, or whatever."

I wrinkle my nose. That doesn't feel right either.

"Isn't that, like, cheating? Using your own money to buy you a gift?"

He shrugs. "I don't care. I've had some pretty shitty birthdays, this ain't gonna be one of them; gift or no gift."

"If you're sure." I get that: the birthday thing. Apart from my last, they've usually been non-events, it's not like James made an effort, really.

"I hate not having my own money," I tell him, frowning. It makes me feel dependant, it makes me feel like I'm slipping down the same slope I went down with James. But it's not like that with Masen; it never has been, he's never tried controlling me like that.

"It won't be for long," Masen reassures me. "When we're settled, we can find jobs... But you don't have to, you can do what you were gonna do and get your GED and go to school. I'll support you, whatever."

I consider him. Starting new, at almost thirty-one. The life he's just left is all he's known since he was in his teens.

"What do you want to do? Like, job-wise?"

He looks down at his plate, then out at the lake, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck.

"I dunno," he tells me but there's a little flush at the tips of his ears that makes me think he does, he's just shy about it.

"Really? You never thought about it? I won't laugh or anything."

"Somethin' physical," he says.

"Like… a stripper? Mmm, I dunno about that," I say tapping my finger on my chin, teasing.

"Think that's more your thing," he says leaning back in his chair.

"I don't strip."

He leans forward.

"You do for me. New year's eve is a personal highlight."

I swallow a mouthful of toast and hum in agreement as his lips curl into a devious smile.

"I think I want to go into nursing... but then I dunno whether I'd cope. I could qualify as a yoga teacher or even teach pole, maybe. Don't need a GED for either of those."

It's the first time I've voiced these things out loud and I'm kind of hoping that it coaxes it out of him, what he sees himself doing.

"Why don't you think you'd cope with nursing?" Masen asks as I take another bite of toast.

"There's a lot of life and death stuff, and I worry that it'll trigger, like panic attacks and stuff. Before the other week, I was pretty much certain that was what I was aiming for but now everything feels… I'm—I'm finding it hard to think beyond, like, the next few days."

Masen's eyes soften, he looks across the water again and then back to me. "Mechanic," he says.

I beam at him. He loves his cars.

"You'd be good at that."

I glance at the clock and my smile fades. If I'm going to call Papà, I need to do it now. Demetri said it was the best time; one of the guards on shift getting backhanders for ignoring Papà for a half hour or so. It doesn't guarantee it but it makes it more likely.

"_Can you give me some time_? _If I call him?_" I ask with a sigh. "_I think I need to do this alone._"

"Sure," Masen says easily. "Sure I can find somethin' to do."

...

The cell feels heavy in my hand as my thumb finally lands on the call button. It rings twice before I bring it to my ear, my lip between my teeth.

Apprehension curls in my stomach, a fuzziness in my head and heart trying to think of what to say. Sorry is at the top of my list, but then what? How do you talk to someone when you have no idea what to say? When you don't really know them?

"_Falcone._"

I'm not ready when he answers. Business like, brusque, slightly accented, a voice that's familiar but not at the same time. My breath catches as I swallow.

"_Hello?" _he asks after a beat.

"_Papà?_"

I hear his own breathing shallow, a crackle and buzz between us.

"_Bella?_"

I pause, closing my eyes, wondering where to begin. Wondering what I can possibly say to start healing a relationship that never really was.

The line crackles again. It's not me who speaks first though, it's him.

"_You called_."

"_Demetri said_," I tell him, pressing the burner closer to my ear as I stare out the window, out across a vast expanse of lake. "_Sorry, it's taken me a while… I just_..."

I struggle to find the right words, lapsing into silence, uncomfortable. He knows what happened to me and I think it makes it harder; he knows what James did; he knows what Caius almost did. I feel hot. Those things… it feels wrong that he knows that stuff, I'm embarrassed by it.

"_How are you?_"

How am I?

"_OK_," I settle on because I think that's mostly what he wants to hear, and it's mostly true. Physically, at least, I'm healing.

In the same moment I decide to plough into what I want to say, he seems to do the same and instead we end up talking over each other.

I laugh awkwardly.

"_Go on_," he urges me.

My gaze finds a solitary bird in the cloud-covered sky, following it as it glides on thermals.

"_I wanted to—to say sorry._ _I was wrong about everything_… _and—and I should've listened to Nonna. And to you._" My voice catches, rubbing a clammy hand on my dressing gown.

He sighs, heavy and weighted. "_I didn't think you'd find out how you found out. This _internet_ thing wasn't around when I was sent down._.._ I meant for everyone to think I did it, to keep you safe_. _I thought you'd listen to your Nonna, but what's done is done. You don't have to be sorry, the only person here who's sorry is me. My life... you're living the consequences of my choices. And there's only so much I can do to make things right_."

His voice is calm like he's put some thought into what he's got to say. I don't expect he apologizes much to anyone.

"_I said some horrible things to you and Nonna_," I admit regretfully. "_I wish I hadn't. I wish she was here so I could tell her sorry too_."

"_She loved you very much… as I do_," he pauses and I feel a lump in my chest, I rub at it. "_I saw you that day in here. You've grown up so much… not the little girl I read bedtime stories to._"

"_I thought it was you but I wasn't—I wasn't sure_."

"_I pulled some strings. Made a move to Chicago as soon as we found out you were there, somewhere_," he tells me. "_Spent years not knowing, after your Nonna passed_. _By the time I knew she'd gone, so had you. I couldn't get Demetri to you fast enough_… _ no records of you anywhere until last summer, some credit card companies._"

_James_.

"_That wasn't... I didn't take out those._"

"_I know_."

"_Did you do it?_" I ask, feeling brave. "_James_?"

"_Not myself_," is his measured response_._ "_No one touches my daughter like that and lives. Filth gets what filth deserves._"

His voice chills me. The contempt in it, a tiny glimpse of the man Caius told me he was.

He changes the subject to my last few years in Phoenix instead. Not long after that, he has to go, the disconnection sudden and abrupt. I guess that's what happens when you're talking on a cell smuggled into prison.

We talk again the next day and the next and it feels positive, to be having these small conversations even if I'm not sure how I feel about him just yet.

…

The day before Masen's birthday, we end up in the nearest town. Demetri meets us in a parking lot, the sun beating down, the cool air of the tree we're stood under wrapping around my bare legs. Masen says he has some things to do, and I needed to get him _something_ for his birthday, even if it's just a card, so we've agreed to split up. Me with Demetri and him on his own.

I quickly realize having Demetri with me is how I imagine celebrities feel with their minders. An ever-watchful shadow, walking beside me.

What I'm not prepared for is how much being around crowds of people bothers me, to the point my hands are sweaty and my breathing is uneven. Demetri's quick to notice, making me sit on a bench and people watch to acclimatize.

"It's OK," he says, when I apologize. "You take as long as you need."

He's distracts me by telling me stories from his youth; growing up in Eastern Europe, making me laugh with one involving a lot of vodka and him waking up in the front room of a house he didn't recognize to an elderly woman beating him with a broom.

He's patient when I spend ages trying to pick out some foundation in the drugstore, and when I ask for his opinion on things I see for Masen.

I'm dead set on getting him an iPod with an in-car adaptor for our time on the road until Demetri points out he'll have to log in to iTunes and spend money online, and we're not doing that. We can't do that. Not yet anyway.

Instead, I pick out a load of CDs, things I know he likes: Radiohead, Nine Inch Nails, System of a Down, and Jurassic 5. Then I toss in the Spice Girls just for the look of disgust on his face.

By the time we meet back up, I've bought Masen a couple of shirts, a new watch, and found the aftershave he likes wearing.

"How'd it go?" he asks as he loads my bags in the trunk of the car. "I hope this ain't all for me?"

I give him a sour look and Demetri laughs.

"It was fine. Don't be ungrateful," I chide, pecking him on the cheek.

In the morning, I wake him up with a badly sung rendition of 'Happy Birthday' bringing a tray of stacked pancakes over to the bed and placing it down, a single candle glowing brightly on top.

"So old now," I say with a laugh as he groans, throwing an arm over his face in protest. "Can't even get up to blow out your candle."

He blinks, sitting up slowly, stomach muscles tensing. "I got somethin' for you to blow."

I shove him gently. "You're obsessed."

"With you."

He blows out his candle, before taking a bite out of syrup-soaked carbs.

"Did you make a wish?"

"You ain't supposed to tell your wish," he says, taking another bite, leaning over, coating sweet syrupy goodness all over my lips.

Masen likes his presents and when we've finally stopped messing around in bed he tells me he wants to go on a long hike that afternoon.

He's already got it all planned out to my surprise; food, water, and the route. It's not too far from the hotel, a short drive and then a four-mile circuit.

By the time we're up the elevation, it's sweltering mid-afternoon sun and blue cloudless skies that look like they go on forever. I've stripped off my hoodie in favor of a sports bra, enjoying the warmth on my back.

We rest at a picnic bench overlooking a valley, in the shade of huge pines, the river flowing far below, slicing through the landscape elk and buffalo dotted around.

"This is beautiful," I say turning to him after pausing to take in the view, feeling serene, taking in deep lungfuls of air.

I dump my hoodie and baseball cap, throwing my sunnies up onto my head as I take sips of water, turning back to take it all in.

Up here, away from Chicago, we could be anyone. I'm not a survivor or a victim, I'm not drowning in bad memories and nightmares... all of that feels distant somehow. A world away.

Masen grins and shakes his head taking off his own hat, coming to stand behind me to admire it. When I look up at him, he's not looking at the views though, he's looking at me.

"What?"

"Nothin'. Just… I like it when you smile; when you're happy like this, with me," he says, resting his chin on top of my head, wrapping arms around me.

"_You_ make me happy."

I look up when he doesn't say anything else. I want to ask him what's wrong, because he has a weird look on his face. He turns to me.

"Y'know I'm not—I'm not great at words, but..." He pulls a small velvet black box out of his pocket. His Adam's apple bobs as he flips it open, diamonds sparkling bright in the sun. "Marry me?"

My hand finds my mouth, a little shocked, a lot surprised, eyes bouncing between the ring and him and all I can muster up are the words: "Are you kidding me?"

I don't even wait for him to respond before I fling myself at him, strong arms lifting me up as my legs wrap around his waist, lips colliding with his.

"Yes!" I chant into his mouth.

When he finally sets me down, he brings my left hand to him, sliding the ring onto my ring finger.

I stare at it, glistening in the sun, my fingers doing that thing people do to make it sparkle and catch the light. I don't know anything much about diamonds or rings but this is beautiful: one large stone, two smaller

"Do you like it?" he asks hesitantly. "We can change it if you don't—"

I look at him like he's crazy. People do that? "I love it. I love it because you chose it for me, but I love you way more than any ring." I grab at him, bouncing on my feet. "Oh my god! You're sure about this?"

"Surer than I've ever been about anythin'," he tells me. "I figured this is a new start for us, so we should start it off right."

A few people milling around congratulate us, one with a Polaroid camera even hands us a couple of developing snaps he managed to capture.

Touched, I hug him too, holding onto them tightly, buried in Masen's side as he declares it his best birthday ever.

…

"_Masen. How well do you know him?_" Papà asks the next day when I speak to him, after I've told him our news.

I don't even hesitate with my answer.

"_Well enough_."

He hums a little like he's dissatisfied.

"_What? He saved my life._ _He's always looking out for me."_

"_I don't like that he's… involved with this business. Him leaving the De Luca family… He's always gonna be looking over his shoulder and that means you are too._"

I stare at my ring, frowning, not sure where this is going, what he's trying to say.

"_Wouldn't I anyway? I'm a Falcone_. _I trust him, Papà. With my life. I love him._"

He's silent for a beat.

"_You could do better. I'd reconsider your answer._"

He tells me he has to go before I can argue just how wrong he is.

...

Over the next few weeks, we travel further south in a bubble of contentment.

We do normal things that normal couples do; anonymous and swallowed whole by distance and time. Dates to the movies, eating ice cream in little parks, enjoying days strolling down sunlit boulevards and nights spent tangled up in each other in the best kind of way.

There's a certain surrealness to it, reality surfacing every now and then when Masen talks hurriedly to Demetri, or I spy a glimpse of the gun he carries with him at all times, or when he carries his holdall with all that money in it, his fingers knuckle white.

I sometimes wobble dangerously close to having panic attacks, my nightmares still raging.

Somehow though, by breathing deep and remembering how good it is to be able to do just that, I can get through them. I can choose to wallow in my own misery or I can be happy. So I choose happiness.

Happiness though…

It doesn't last.

…

There's a sharp knock on the cabin door, startling us from sleep. Bleary eyes find the alarm clock, red and glaring a little past one a.m. Masen swears, pulling his gun, getting out of bed and moving the curtain only slightly to look out the window before relaxing, throwing on a t-shirt and unbolting the door.

"The fuck are you doin' man?" he asks as Demetri barges past him into the room, bringing in a rush of cold night air.

Demetri doesn't reply, looking over the room until he finds the TV remote and switches it on, flicking through channel after channel before jabbing his finger at the screen.

"That."

Masen sinks down onto the end of the bed.

"... _Edward 'Masen' Cullen is suspected of gunning down mob boss Caius De Luca in Chicago in early June with sources close to the investigation suggesting he's skipped states with the daughter of former mafia don Calagero Falcone… Isabella Falcone had previously been presumed dead, with her father being convicted on DNA evidence of her murder alongside her mother in nineteen ninety; however..." _

I don't hear what they're suggesting because Masen's face fills the TV, a photo of him from a few years ago, what looks like a previous mugshot. Wanted, it states underneath, a ridiculously sized reward on offer.

Masen's quiet then he swears loudly, getting up, pacing. "How the fuck did this happen? How the FUCK did this happen?" He's jabbing a hand at the TV, a hand in his hair, the look of a wild animal caught, before slamming his hand against the doorjamb of the bathroom in frustration or anger or both. "Fuck. Fuuuuck!"

He looks at me and I feel my face crumple, hot and cold fear twisting my insides. "Baby," he says, voice tinged with desperation.

"We can hide, can't we? Isn't that what we're doing?"

Masen fists his hair again. "Will only be a matter of time," he murmurs with a shake of his head.

"Bella should come with me," Demetri says.

Masen jabs a finger at Demetri angrily. "Not fuckin' happening. I go where she goes."

"You're gonna take her down with you if you're fuckin' caught," Demetri growls. "You want that for her?"

"Don't you dare fuckin' start—"

"It'd be safer for her. We could get her a new identity!"

Their voices escalate until they're shouting loudly over each other.

"Shut up! Shut UP! SHUT UP!"

They both stop and stare at me. "I can't—I'm not going to live under another name! Look at all the shit that's happened from doing that the first time!"

It's like no one learns. I take a minute thinking, but the sinking feeling in my stomach tells me there's not much we can do here. Unless we head for an international border - Mexico, then onto… where?

"Maybe. Maybe you can just be honest. Surely shooting him was in defence, or something?"

"It's all the other stuff they might trace back to me, Bella, too. This is... If they catch me and prove I've done the stuff I have for Alec... I'm lookin' at life."

I close my eyes, voice small.

"Then what do we do?"


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

My dress is slinky, thin spaghetti straps criss-crossing, exposing skin right down to my lower back. I like the simplicity, the slightly off-white fabric, the timelessness of it.

Touching up neutral lipstick in the mirror, I nervously fiddle with the soft waves in my hair. Checking and double checking my clutch bag before I take a breath, a cursory glance around our hotel room before I leave.

The descent in the elevator is quiet and I find myself staring upward at the gold fixtures, ignoring the woman with her boyfriend who keeps staring at me, hoping to God she doesn't recognize me _now_. Not now. Not today.

Instead, just as we exit into the lobby, she touches my arm and tells me I look beautiful. I thank her with a small smile before turning, searching the crowds until I see him leaning against a pillar. A still figure in the hustle and bustle of people; checking in, checking out, suitcases everywhere.

Dark suit pants, white shirt open at the collar, sunglasses hiding his eyes, beard neatly trimmed. My heart skips, beating fast. He's so ridiculously good looking.

My heels click on marble floors as I make my way over, weaving in and out of people, not too fast in case I trip or slip.

The moment he spots me he lifts his sunglasses, meeting my eyes, mouthing 'wow', a thousand butterflies exploding in my stomach.

"You're seriously breathtakin', y'know that?" he murmurs, offering his hand to me. He lifts it, making me twirl and I let out a low laugh as he whistles. His hand comes to rest on the small of my back, his thumb rubbing the smallest circle as he pulls me close. I smile as I lean up to press a kiss to his jaw.

We're really doing this.

"Are you ready?" I ask, pulling back, his hand laced with mine.

"Let's go."

We dive out from the hotel, everything loud and hot as he opens and closes the door of a waiting cab for me, sliding in the opposite side moments later.

The drive, even though it's short, takes forever, and when we finally get out at the chapel, the taxi driver wishes us a lifetime of happiness.

The irony makes me wonder how many times a Vegas cab driver must say that a year? A week? A day? How many of those marriages survive? How are _we_ going to survive _this_?

The wait in the chapel is excruciating. Not as excruciating as the day before when we got our license, but excruciating nevertheless. All of this is risky. If someone realizes who we are, we're fucked.

I'm not sure if it's even legal to get married under this name, but Masen wants to do this as much as I do. Cement this, cement us.

So we do. With big smiles and adoring eyes.

Man and wife.

Mr and Mrs Cullen.

He gets our wedding date tattooed down the inside of his ring finger in Roman numerals, after. A tangible reminder that this happened; that we pledge our love to each other; that he is mine and I am his, imprinted on his skin, forever.

Wedding days are supposed to be happy, and it is.

I am.

But this hurts.

Our time and luck is running out, and we both know it.

...

The hotel room phone rings in the middle of the night two days later, jarring us out of sleep, ominous as it cuts through the silence.

Masen grabs for it, alert as he sits up and answers, sheets pooled around his bare torso, moonlight bright on his skin. I listen with my heart in my mouth hearing Demetri say the two words we've both been dreading.

"They're here."

…

There's no knock on the door, it explodes; a roar of shouting and thundering feet. Voices yelling and screaming.

Don't move.

Hands up.

Fear holds my breath, hands that were entwined not thirty seconds ago raising slowly above our heads in surrender.

"Don't hurt her," Masen snaps as my hands are roughly pulled behind my back, metal closing around my wrists.

My eyes don't leave his, saying what my mouth can't. _I love you_.

We're dragged away from each other; my heart and his torn apart, as red and blue bleed into the night sky.

...

Detective Hale comes and sees me once they've transferred me back to Chicago.

"I could never put a finger on it," she says, "but there was always something about you."

I stare at her perfectly perfect blonde hair, as she walks around the interrogation room. Dark walls closing in, memories of a room not too dissimilar lurking in the back of my mind.

"Did you know who you are?"

I don't answer.

"You've been through a lot, Bella… _Isabella. _I get it. We don't doubt your ex did those things to you but Edward Cullen? What were you thinking? He's no better. He's a killer. And he's going down for a long time. If he forced you into anything you need to let us know. We can help you. Cooperation is key here."

I bite my tongue. Masen is _nothing_ like James. _Nothing_. Instead of answering I look at her dully, telling her what I've told every other person who's been in this room, trying to get me to do the same.

"I want my lawyer."

...

Jenks is nothing if not efficient. He secures my release within a few hours of arriving. Dressed in an expensive looking grey three-piece suit, closely cropped dark hair, and an impatient, authoritative attitude; he means business.

They have nothing to charge me with, and no evidence to back it up. Me being alive has meant I've already submitted to DNA testing; to prove who I am, to help with the motion Jenks has filed with the courts to have Papà's conviction of my murder overturned; the murder of my Mamma re-examined.

He's positive it casts enough doubt they'll exonerate him of both crimes and warrant them suing the state of New York for damages over a serious miscarriage of justice. Even though they purposefully didn't fight the charges too hard at the time.

"How's Masen?" I ask, worriedly, waiting for the officer at the front desk to give me back my belongings. Jenks inclines his head, lowering his voice.

"Doing well, considering. Sticking to his story like we planned. I filed your marriage paperwork, by the way… ah, Demetri!"

They greet each other like old friends. They both work for Papà in some capacity so it's not a surprise they know each other. Papà is the one who's paying for this: defence attorneys. Not just for me, but for Masen too, albeit reluctantly. I knew he wouldn't stand a chance with a public defender, and with his holdall buried underneath the desert in Nevada, he hasn't got much to pay for anyone decent, either. The only condition is for me to visit him. Meet him, face to face, regularly.

A few cops are milling around to my left, stood by vending machines that wouldn't look out of place in the eighties, cheap white coffee cups in hand. It doesn't escape me the way one of them nudges another and they all look in my direction as the officer on the desk slides across a clear plastic bag of my belongings.

"Sign here," she says, in a bored tone, shoving a clipboard at me. I sign my new name, before looking up, the officers still looking my way.

"What? You gotta problem?"

Jenks pulls me away before I can unleash simmering anger. Demetri trailing, amused.

"Don't do that," Jenks reprimands. "You're above all this, remember?"

I look away, stubbornly.

"Just try to keep calm, get some sleep, a shower... I'll keep you up-to-date with Mr. Cullen. They're likely to keep him in as long as they can to try and get him to confess. We're in this for the long haul."

Jenks strides off out the front of the building. Masen isn't in this precinct, at a guess. My chest feels tight at the thought, that I can't be with him, that he's out there somewhere in custody waiting for fate to decide what hand it's going to deal him. Us. It hurts to think about, the consequences of this. Even though we knew.

"C'mon let's get you outta here, you look dead on your feet," Demetri says. "Put your hood up and cover your eyes. I got a car but you need to stick with me. You're big news, kid."

…

Demetri's right.

Our story has blown up.

Masen has always looked like he could be in magazine spreads, and that's what they've done. Only it's headlines in newspapers; his face and mine, plastered all over the news and gossip rags.

They've got pictures of me: everything bikini pictures from summers at the lakes, to hosting in the club, even high school year book photos. It's the same for Masen: pictures of him playing baseball and football in high school, a previous mugshot, the history of his dad, and his mom...

_His mom_.

I can't bear to think how she's feeling right now, how his brother and Esme are taking this. I should ring them. I should make sure they're OK, but I can't bring myself to do it right now when we're not even sure whether he'll be charged.

"It's getting down to the wire," Jenks says when he next calls. "The DA is going to have to charge him with something or let him go pretty soon. They're carrying out search warrants at his apartment and the shooting range as we speak, so here's hoping they don't find anything untoward."

I know this already because Emmett's face has been on the news, hurriedly shoving his hand to block the camera. How they even knew the search was going down, I don't know.

I ask Jenks about all the media attention and he just chuckles down the phone. I frown, because I'm not finding it very funny.

"Look, you're both young, white, and attractive; your association is with something that's been glamorized in movies since the seventies. The mafia, the mob… The media loves stuff like this and people eat it up. Can bet if you were of color, like myself, they wouldn't give a shit."

"That's—that's just stupid. And pathetic."

"It is what it is, but listen, if anything appears that's untrue, let me know and we'll lodge some libel claims against the publications and persons involved."

"OK," I agree before he tells me he needs to go.

I sigh, sitting on the end of the bed in the hotel room Demetri's taken me to, twirling a lock of unwashed hair around my finger. I should really grab that shower; wash travel and holding cell grime off, but the last shower I had was with Masen and I pathetically don't want to let that go. Like somehow it'll be washing him away too.

I sit thinking, instead. I know they won't find anything at the range; Masen told me before, it's completely legitimate. It's profitable enough he can afford the life he does: his apartment, the cars… It's his cover, and he's maintained that for years; he's been careful, he told me.

His apartment, however... I don't know. I just _don't know_ what they'll find. I know they won't find the gun he used that night because that's at the bottom of a lake in Arizona but I'm not sure what, if anything else, he has stashed there.

Eventually, I drag myself under warm water, unable to sleep or eat, mind running away with endless possibilities.

Afterwards, despite my eyes itching and heavy, I pace.

And pace.

And pace.

Demetri brings cigarettes and food as I ignore his advice of getting some rest and wait for the next call, hoping it'll be Jenks telling me Masen's made bail.

...

Hours and hours later my hand finds my face, pinching the bridge of my nose to try to stop the rush of tears, but I'm already crying before Jenks has even finished.

Two counts of murder, and to make matters worse, they found an unlicensed gun in his apartment, so they charging him for that too.

_Fuck_.

Demetri has a hand on my shoulder, trying to comfort me but I shrug him off.

"Give me the phone," he says prising it off me gently.

I bury my face in the sleeves of Masen's hoodie, hopeless, helpless, gutted, a stream of swear words leaving my mouth.

Caius was right about one thing.

Life isn't fair.

...

"Look at them," I murmur as the car passes by a crowd of people outside the courthouse. "What the fuck is wrong with people?"

Demetri shrugs a little. "Vultures. The lot of 'em."

"I feel sick," I tell him once he's parked up, gazing up at the imposing dark glass building, tugging at the corner of my white blouse, stomach churning.

I've spent pretty much the whole of the last two days before Masen's arraignment lying in bed until Demetri told me in no uncertain terms I need to pull it together, for him.

Because even though this is the absolute worst outcome, I'm not the one looking at spending the rest of my life locked up.

"Just breathe," he tells me.

I'm shaking my head, opening the car door, throwing up in the gutter before I can even tell him otherwise.

"Jesus fucking Christ," I mumble, wiping at my mouth.

Demetri pats my arm sympathetically, passing me chewing gum and a bottle of water.

"C'mon. Jenks said eleven, you only got ten minutes… Put your sunglasses on, head up, and don't let anything they're saying get to you. Don't speak, just ignore."

He guides me in to the building, arm wrapped protectively over my shoulders as people, _reporters_, shout things at me; asking stupid question, after stupid question.

...

My heart thunders away, my hands clenched, sweaty, as they lead him into the courtroom. He's dressed in standard issue brown-grey jumpsuit, hands cuffed. Raising his head, tired eyes search until they find me behind Jenks; he slows his walk so he can give me a half smile, before his eyes scan along. I glance where he's looking. His mom is here, his brother, and Esme.

God, do they hate him? They can't hate him. Because all of this is my fault, I've realized. All of it. If I hadn't left his apartment and gone to work that night, none of this would be happening. I should've listened to him.

_Why do I never listen?_

My hands twist in the dark grey blazer one of Jenks' assistants bought over for me last night. She'd bought me an entire outfit. Black jeans, grey blazer, white shirt. He said he couldn't have me showing up in court in Masen's hoodie... as if I would have.

Maybe I would have. It's what I felt like doing.

Masen stands when asked; back straight, shoulders down. I want to reach out and run my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. He's so close but yet so impossibly out of each.

When he speaks to confirm his name and date of birth, his voice never breaks. He's quiet and firm—resolute—when he pleads not guilty to the murder charges. When it comes to the unlicensed firearm though, he hesitates for a second. A second too long. A second that lets me pre-empt the next word out of his mouth.

"Guilty."

The judge is talking, saying something about sentencing, taking recommendations from the prosecution about his bond conditions, but I can't focus. I'm in a fog of disbelief, my jaw clenching, blindsided. Hoping he's taken a plea deal.

Masen turns before he's lead away, leaning over the wooden divider, kissing me. Lingering words brushed against my mouth.

"Sorry."

Something catches his eye over my shoulder and his expression hardens, his body tensing.

His eyes return to me, serious. "Be safe," he warns before he's forced to move, disappearing.

My shoulders drop, my head lowering, fighting back the swell of emotion in my chest.

"C'mon," Demetri says, his large hand heavy on my shoulder.

After we exit the courtroom, I see him. He stays just long enough to make sure I do, a smile twisting his lips.

_Alec_.

Anger surges. Was it him? Who's done _this_? After everything Masen did for him? I start towards him but I'm suddenly distracted by Elizabeth appearing, her hand reaching out for me.

She hugs me tight, as we sway against each other, and I relax into her embrace, tension seeping away as she hugs me like a mother would.

"We're going to get through this," she says, tearfully as she releases me.

Esme hovering at Elizabeth's shoulder is just as sincere when she hugs me tight too.

And I can only hope they're right.

…

"Bella!"

The voice is distinctive enough amongst the sounds of the city for me to stop in my tracks. A familiarity I'm desperate for right now. I twist my head seeing Charlotte running to catch up with us, running until she's flung herself at me with an, "Oh my God!"

"Char?"

She pulls back, hands either side of my arms, gripping me firmly, her face wrinkled with concern.

"What are you—what are you doing here?" I ask as Demetri stops beside me.

"I'm here for you," she says as if it's nothing.

I look around, conscious there's people all around us, a few lingering photographers and reporters.

"We should get moving, your friend coming?" Demetri implores as they spot us, moving our way.

I look at Charlotte as her hand slides down my arm, taking my own.

"Lead the way."

Demetri gives us privacy when we're back inside the hotel, muttering something about staying down at the bar to leave us 'women folk' to catch up and I'm glad he's not hovering.

"What is he, some kinda like, bodyguard or somethin'?" Charlotte quizzes as soon as the door slams shut.

"Friend of Dad's."

"This is crazy," Charlotte continues, eyes roving around the hotel room. "Girl, have you _seen_? You're all over the news. Didn't I tell you to be careful with him? And this whole thing with your parents and your identity? I up your life from a shitty lifetime movie to an HBO six part drama."

I manage a laugh, the first in days, before my face drops.

"It's all such a mess Char, everything's so fucked up. I can't believe this is happening. Any of it."

"Tell me everything," she says as we settle on the bed, stroking my hair and it feels just like old times.

I tell her almost everything apart from whether Masen's actually responsible. I leave her to draw her own conclusions on that, but Caius, him wanting me dead, the events that transpired that night. I don't gloss over that. Not with her.

"You must've been so scared, B," she whispers, wiping a stray tear from her face. "If he did kill them, it was the least either of them deserved. Hell, I'd have done the same. Anyone would. That guy sure loves you, huh?"

I look at my ring finger and her eyes flicker to it.

"No. Freakin'. Way?! You married him? Oh my God, Bella!"

"It felt right. It always feels right with him," I say, fighting back tears.

She's shushing me as my shoulders shake until I'm running to the bathroom to relieve this ever present nausea.

Charlotte follows me, appearing at the door, something hesitant about the way she's looking me over, eyebrows drawn together.

"What?"

"You been doing that a lot?"

I wrinkle my nose.

"I guess. Just everything makes me feel so queasy. I got the weakest stomach, the anxiety and worry and stress. It's not a big deal, really. I'm fine."

She stares and crosses her arms.

"When was your last period, B?"

* * *

**AN: Just a disclaimer to say my knowledge of the American legal system is novice level.**** I researched but man you guys are complicated. If I got anything wrong apologies. :)**


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

It takes a couple of weeks before I can see Masen. There's an issue processing his visitors onto the system, so even getting a phone call takes a whole agonizing week.

When we do finally speak, the connection is bad, his voice too far away, and then our conversation is cut far too short; his cell block having a shakedown.

Time drags and each day brings conflicting feelings. In the short term, it's one day closer to seeing him again, but in the longer scheme of things it's one day closer to finding out his sentence; his trial date… one day closer to finding out our future.

If we even have one.

Two pink lines on a white stick, capped and hidden in the bedside table of my hotel room confirms mine. At least, I think so.

At night I pull it out and stare at it before resting my hand on my lower stomach, wondering how we could've been so stupid. I mean, how did I not even notice?

Part of me wasn't surprised... part of me, I think, knew, at least on a subconscious level, but whatever state of mind I've been in, I haven't acknowledged it, not until Charlotte asked. Not until she dashed out to the drugstore and bought me three different tests. Not until she held my hand as we timed two torturous minutes together. Not until she told me it was positive.

The fact is the timing couldn't be worse. I know that. _I know._ And I don't know what I want to do about it, because I wasn't - I'm _not _in any kind of position to be having a baby. I can barely look after myself, let alone care for a tiny human being.

There's a glaringly obvious option here but there's no way I can just terminate a pregnancy without discussing this with Masen first, even though it was Charlotte's suggestion. I can't do that to him, or me, or the bunch of cells growing in me right now. It wouldn't be fair on any of us.

…

Sitting impatiently, knee bouncing, I get to my feet when they finally lead the inmates through into the large, clinical visitors' room. I double-take when it registers he has a black eye but before I can utter a word, he crushes me to him, arms wrapped tightly around me. I squeeze him back just as hard before he lowers his mouth to mine, kissing me sweet and soft until one of the guards yells at us to pack it in.

"God, I've fuckin' missed you," he mumbles as we release each other reluctantly.

"Me too. What happened?" I ask, sinking back down on the hard plastic seat as he does the same, running my hand through my ponytail, cheeks feeling flushed at getting called out.

"I'm a fish…" he tells me like I should know what that means. "I didn't come off bad, should've seen him."

He says it casually but I'm chewing my lip, uneasy.

"I'm not sure—"

"Bella," he cuts in. "It's how it works. Just... let me deal with it in my own way, OK? I know it don't look good, but I'm not about to be fucked over in here. Not for anythin'."

"OK-OK. I'm sorry."

He takes my hand, moving his legs so they touch mine under the table. "Demetri lookin' after you alright?"

"Fine. We're fine. He's annoying really, like an overbearing dad. Don't feel like I can go anywhere."

Masen's laugh is too bitter, and then I feel like an insensitive bitch because it's not like he's going anywhere either, and I should've realized that. I drop my head and stare hard at scratches in the white tabletop.

"I'm sorry, that was— is it bad? In here?"

He shrugs.

"Nah. Nothin' to do apart from workout and try and keep my head down, not that seems to be workin' with all the shit that's been on the news."

I get the feeling he isn't being entirely truthful but he carries on before I can interrupt.

"Hoping I'll get given a job or somethin' soon, keep me busy while we're waitin'. Maybe I'll go into education." He tugs at his hair. "My cell mate's a fuckin' freak though, but he can carry on 'bout his momma and his God as long as he stays the fuck outta my way."

I can't begin to understand what it's like being in here, but he's being so composed—so level-headed—I'm a little freaked out because that's the opposite of how I feel.

"That's… good. You seem to be… coping."

"Didn't say I was coping."

"Sorry," I say automatically, again, feeling stupid and unsure of myself. I stare at him but his eyes are travelling around the room. He lifts his head at someone in acknowledgement and I look over my shoulder myself to see a guy with a shaved head and tattoos looking our way, even though he's got his own visitors, a grin on his face as his eyes bounce between us.

I look back at Masen.

"Who's that?"

"No one," he replies and now I _know_ he's lying but I don't want to pick him up on it, push him when this is the first time I've seen him properly since we were arrested.

He feels distant, removed, not quite himself. My fingers trace the indents in the table. This wasn't what I thought visiting him would be like, I don't know what it would be like but not… not, this. I make the decision then not to tell him I'm pregnant. Not today. Things feel too fragile. I have a scan later in the week so I figure if words fail me next time I can show him the picture, or something.

"Don't do that, B." I look up, and he looks sad now.

"Don't do what?"

"Don't say sorry. You keep saying it and I don't need you to be sorry. I just need _you_… just talk to me, about anythin'. Nothin' to do with this." He gestures around, and I get it I think.

I take a breath.

"Um, Charlotte showed up," I tell him. "I don't... It's weird, but she's been around pretty much every day. So…"

"You trust her?" Masen quizzes.

"She's never… she was always there for me in the past. So, yeah. I kinda need a friend right now and I miss her, y'know? She never did me wrong back then, it's only the stuff before with Petey and Maria that's made me second guess everything."

"Just be… be careful how much you share with her. Just in case, I'm not sayin' she'd betray your trust but, y'know. Luck don't seem to be on our side at the moment."

I think I've told her too much already, but the burden of carrying everything on my shoulders is just… too much. I needed to tell someone, something, before I exploded and there's only so much Demetri can listen to, the poor guy.

"She's been distracting me from everything. She started beauty school in the evenings when she's not working and wants me to be her guinea pig for some of her modules."

"What for?"

"Like eyebrow waxing, tinting, lash extensions, that kinda thing."

Masen studies me for a second, his eyes darting around my face. "You don't need none of that shit."

I have to laugh. "That's real sweet but there's always room for improvement."

He shakes his head and I can feel his knee bounce against mine. "One of the things I'm missin' the most. Wakin' up to your face. You don't need to be improved."

I miss waking up to him too. His weight by my side, the warmth he radiates, the way he groans when I whisper the time in his ear. I swallow hard trying to bring myself back to our conversation but a rush of nausea makes me bring my hand to my mouth instead. For a minute I think I'm going to throw up on the spot. I thought I was over this but maybe not.

"You OK?" Masen's looking at me, his eyebrows drawn together.

"Yeah. Fine," I lie. He looks unconvinced so I carry on, hoping it's enough to distract him. "I mean, it's just to help her out anyways. She takes some before and after shots and it goes into her portfolio for marking. As long as I don't end up lookin' freaky, I said OK."

Masen glances away and then back again. His constant awareness making me feel unnerved. "What else?"

"Esme and your Mom invited me over for dinner the other night. They had some questions... and your brother. He's not happy. He doesn't like me. Like,_ at all_."

It wasn't as if I expected him to be nice, but his attitude was horrendous. He didn't get me, he didn't get why I was with Masen, he didn't like that I'm related to someone like my Papà. He tried putting the blame at my feet for the whole situation, and in a way, I agree with him.

"He don't like me either," Masen says with a roll of his eyes. "What was he sayin'?"

"Well, um, he said he wants to pay for different attorneys. Having Jenks represent you… being married to me… Havin' ties to the 'goddamn American-Italian mafia' You look guilty by association he said."

Esme had to tug him down back into his seat at that point as he jabbed his finger at me from across the table, hand splayed on mahogany, angry. Of course, he knows a little more then Esme and Elizabeth, about Masen's involvement with Alec so he cornered me later on my way out, wanting to know the truth.

"Did he murder those men?"

I couldn't answer though so I just said I didn't know.

"Would be the first selfless thing that fucker ever did for me if he actually coughed up. How Es puts up with him, I don't know." Masen shifts in his seat. "He needs to pick up the next time I ring from this place. I want Jenks... we got it all figured out. If he's got an issue, he needs to speak to me." He blows out a breath through his nose. "How's Mom? Esme?"

"Truth?"

"Yeah."

"Devastated."

He hangs his head, and for the first time he looks proper ashamed, regretful.

"I didn't. God, I was such a little shit when I was younger. I didn't care, and now look where I am."

"Maybe you should've left me alone, like you said before," I ask, little doubts niggling at me. "Because where we've ended up is… here. Mostly cus of me. Actually, no. This _is_ because of me. Your brother isn't wrong."

"He said that?" Masen's eyes flash angrily. "Bella… Don't even… It makes me mad, you thinkin' like that. I don't regret doin' what I did. I don't regret you. I made choices when I was younger and every one of those lead me here, to you. So, fuck that. I've been involved with this stuff for years, that ain't on you. That's all on me."

I'm quiet as he strokes my hand softly with his thumb.

"You never told me. How you ended up working for Alec. I know your family hasn't got any links…" I trail off and he looks like he doesn't want to have this discussion right now.

"You gotta tell me at somepoint," I tell him.

He crosses his arms leaning back in his seat, glancing around again, considering me.

"I can't get into the ins and outs," he says eventually. "Not here."

"Then sum it up for me, please?"

He moves forward. "Remember what my mom went through?"

I nod.

"Alec solved the issue of my dad. That's why I owed him."

He leans back and watches my reaction as I go through a myriad of feelings and it makes sense. From what he's said previously, I guessed it was something like that but I couldn't be sure.

Masen sighs heavily.

"What the fuck are you doing with me?" he asks flatly, more to himself than anything else. "You could do so much better. Your Papà was right about that. I ain't got nothin' to offer you."

I startle a little. "He told you that?"

Masen snorts. "He told you that too?"

I cross my legs and uncross them. There isn't anyone else I want. Despite everything I know.

"He did," I admit, "but I don't want anyone else. I told _him_ that." I nudge his foot until the tension in his posture dissipates.

"He don't know you like I do. He's got no right to start telling me who I want or what I need. I mean, I've got no idea what I'm doing," I confess with a laugh. "No idea right now. Without you, things seem pointless. I know that's bad, but that's how it feels… I love you, I wouldn't have married you otherwise. I just, I don't know what to do without you around."

"You gotta carry on," Masen insists, sincerely.

"I know but—"

"I _need_ you to carry on. Study for your GED, or do your yoga teaching, whatever it is. Start seeing Irina again. Seriously, Bella. I love you too. I want good things for you, I always have. Your life can't just stop cos I'm in here."

I feel like we're thinking the same as he swerves over the fact we have no idea how long he's going to be in here for.

The thought is painful. That he might be in prison for the rest of his life.

And then what?

What happens to us?

The alarm goes.

And just like that, visiting time is over.

"Next week?" Masen asks, hopeful. I smile, wrapping my arms around him, as his hand skims my ass in the commotion, squeezing.

"Yeah… but call me, before then if you can."

...

"_Did you see today's paper?_" I ask Masen when he calls a week later.

He sighs down the phone. "No."

"_Kate_," I tell him, bitterness there. "'_My night with—_"

"Stop," Masen says tiredly.

We're silent.

"She didn't mean shit to me, you know that."

"Doesn't make it any easier to read! How many more are gonna come crawling out the woodwork to have their five minutes, huh? Obviously liked her well enough to fuck her."

I don't know where this anger is coming from. The jealousy I feel, the irrational urge to hit something when I think of him and her. Seeing the newspaper this morning made me hit the roof. She even has a fucking picture with him and I hate that I don't, not after Caius destroyed my cell and the police took his.

"Bella… c'mon. Give me a fuckin' break. This is before we even got together! I wasn't a saint. You gotta just ignore it. Fuck, if I gotta hear somethin' about you said in here one more time…" He blows out a breath, a dark laugh.

I want to ask him what exactly they say, but I don't. I know my anger is misplaced too, but I can't help it. I can't. I don't even know why. Maybe I can blame it on hormones.

"I miss you so bad. I don't even have a picture with you and she does. That's fucked up. Closest I got to you is your mugshot," I tell him instead, pressing my forehead against the glass window, looking at people running from the rain that's thundering down. I sound like a petulant child but at the moment I don't care.

"I know. I get it. I do." I can hear him swallow. "I miss you too. You doin' what I said?"

I look over to the corner of the room, where I'm throwing myself into revision because it's giving me a distraction and because really, before everything went down, it's what I wanted to do.

"Yeah. Mid-October I'm taking it, for definite this time." We should have a trial date by then, and we should know what he's serving for his guilty plea. Jenks thinks it'll be between two to five years, max, but even that feels too long. And if he's found guilty at trial for the murders it'll be a hell of a lot longer. Life, maybe, but I can't think about that.

"How are things?" I ask him instead, anger waning.

"OK," he says. "Gotta job clearing up the yard, extra outside time in this weather… can't complain though. Just trying to not think about the sentencing and the trial."

I don't want to think about those either, so instead I bring up some things I didn't know about him the papers brought to my attention. "You never told me you went to State playing football?"

"Yeah. I was alright," he says, a little smug. "Team effort though. _You_ never told me you went to a private Catholic school," he bounces back. "Did you have nuns and shit?"

"Yeah, we had nuns and shit," I imitate. My lips tug into a smile. "It sucked, and I hated it."

"God, you'd have driven me crazy if I'd been at school with you," he muses, his voice lowering.

"Girls only I'm afraid. Plus, like, I was hardly _in_ school. Skipped a lot, especially senior year. Too busy getting high, lookin' after Nonna... One of the sisters told me I was going straight to hell, one time. There was no coming back for me. My sins couldn't be absolved. I mean, who tells that shit to a seventeen-year-old girl?"

"I dunno... what did you do?" he asks amused.

"Told one of my friends I lost my virginity and she spread it 'round the school… so yeah, Sister Mary Alice told me I was goin' to hell."

Masen laughs.

"I think I'd be burning right there with you."

…

They remove his visitation the next week. I don't find out until I get there, and then I have to find out from Jenks a few days later he got thrown in solitary for fighting. He sounds exasperated and I feel like punching something myself.

What the fuck is he doing?

Why is he doing this _now_? Just before he's due to be sentenced? When I need to tell him something which is going to change everything.

...

I chew my lip as I sit down in the room. Grey walls, grey floors, grey sky outside. Jenks was spot on with Masen's sentence.

Three years for possession of an unlicensed firearm.

Three fucking years.

And it's hitting home.

Reality.

I don't think his behavior whilst he's been locked up has helped his sentence length either, and for that, I put the blame squarely on him. It makes me mad just thinking about it, but maybe this will be the wake-up call he needs to get his head on straight.

I'll get some time alone with him but not a lot. It's all Jenks could manage because this meeting is under the pretence that Jenks needs time with his client.

Masen looks surprised when he walks in the room but neither of us speak until the guards have left and the door has closed behind them with a clang.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, not harshly but I don't like his tone.

"Jenks is just getting something from his car. To give us some time alone."

"Right."

He stares at the table, not looking at me. He's shut down and closed off and it breaks my heart that this is the outcome of knowing just one sentence. "Masen? C'mon, you gotta talk to me."

He looks at me desolation in his eyes.

"Like you've been talking to me? You've not been answering my calls," he challenges.

"One call. I had to find out you weren't allowed visitation after comin' here because you've been fighting. Again!" I cross my arms defiantly. "I thought you were trying to keep your head down?"

He doesn't answer. He isn't even looking at me.

"You won't even look at me!" I snap, irritated, pushing his foot with mine.

"It's hard. To look at you," he says eventually, finally lifting his eyes to mine. "Knowin' what's goin' to happen. Knowin' I ain't gonna make it out of here."

"You don't know that," I say fiercely. "Jenks says—"

"Jenks chats a load of shit, Bella."

He laces his hands in front of him, thumb feeling out scabbed knuckles.

"You gotta look at this realistically. There'll be no _us_ if I go down for the other fifty they're trying to pin on me! You're gonna..." He falls silent, a frown on his face. "You're gonna have to live your life. Move on."

I blink at him, staring at dark blue nails Charlotte painted on me last night, my stomach dropping.

"You might not even—"

"But if I am. If I'm stuck in this hell-hole for life, B—I love you, nothing's gonna change that, but I'm old enough to know fairytale endings happen in the fuckin' movies. This ain't a fairy tale. You know that more than anyone. It's justice, it's how the law works. To put men like me away."

"I know," I swallow feeling berated. "But you're not a bad person." He snorts, and it irritates me. "You're _not_. It's—it's not black and white like that. I don't see it like that."

"If the trial for Caius and Royce goes bad. If I'm sent down, I want you to promise me you'll sign divorce papers."

"_What_?"

"I want you to be free from me. _This_. I ain't, but you… don't have to be. It ain't fair for me to expect you to what… become like your fuckin' school nuns?"

"What was the point then? What was the fucking point?! I'm your _wife_. I can't just… I can't just switch off these feelings, Masen. I'm gonna be here fighting in your corner cos I know you'd do the same for me. I know it."

I swipe angrily at hot tears falling down my cheeks.

Masen slumps, not saying a word.

"I should testify," I sniff, wiping at my eyes.

"No."

"Let me tell them what happened."

"NO!" He's fierce this time. "You incriminate no one! You want Alec after you?"

"I won't say he was there."

"Speak to your dad about how this works, Bella. How the families work this. I swore an oath."

"Do you think it was him?" I ask bluntly. "Do you think Alec did this? Cos I saw him after your arraignment. He stayed and made sure I saw him."

Masen's fists ball. "I got no doubt. His words are as good as shit. He better hope all of this don't end up as a RICO case, cos they're gonna haul him in too. It's only cos I wised up that they're struggling to make a connection."

We lapse into silence again. "Whatever you do, stay clear of him, I don't want you anywhere near him. He's always had a thing for you." His voice is venomous, his anger blatant.

"You know I've never liked him."

I feel him out, my hand on top of his. "I'm not gonna give up on you."

"You should," Masen says, frowning at his hands.

"I _can't_," I whisper, wiping at my face again. Breathing in deeply, the words propelled out in a single breath. "I'm pregnant."

His fingers tighten on mine, and when I look up, he looks distraught.

"Bella." Desperate. "Fuck. No."

"No?" I repeat with a laugh, looking anywhere but at him, blinking back tears. "Bit too late for that."

He's quiet. For too long. I leave it alone for a minute, letting it sink in because it's a lot to take in.

"You not got anythin' to say?" I ask after a while, hurt rocking my voice.

He inhales sharply, head in hands, brushing hair back off his face, staring at the ceiling.

"I don't… _Fuck_. This ain't how anythin' was supposed to be!" he growls frustrated. "How am I gonna… how are you… This is… _shit_. Are you sure? Are you fucking positive?"

I reach into the back pocket of my blue jeans, bringing out the ultrasound, the little alien shape caught in black and white on glossy print paper. He takes it, holding it so carefully as if it's the real thing.

"That's their leg, head, arm."

Masen rubs the scruff on his face, looking lost. Like he's not quite sure what to say. "When are—how far along?"

"Fifteen weeks or so, they think. I didn't—I guess my shot must've worn off and with everything… it didn't even cross my mind. I thought me throwing up was stress. Stupid, right?"

"Fuck, Bella this ain't… what do you wanna do?"

"I don't know," I exhale slowly. "I don't know, Masen. I'm fuckin' terrified… But the thought of… and I'm a lot further along than I thought so I can't- I don't think I can do it."

My watery eyes meet his.

"OK… OK. I- this is..." He holds out his hand beckoning. "C'mere."

I'm out of my seat then, moving around the table. He reaches out, lifting my top up, hand coming out to touch my belly, a little more rounded than normal.

"You don't look it. At all," he murmurs. His fingers sliding round to grip my hips. I tell him it's still early days as he gently tugs me down, so I'm in his lap and he's holding me tight, face buried in my neck. Feather-light kisses all over.

"I need you to be OK with doin' this on your own," he says, serious. "This has gotta be your decision cos I'm not- I'm not gonna be able to be there for you how I want to be. I might not ever be."

"OK," I sniff, heart aching in my chest.

"Were you pregnant when—that night?"

I bite my lip and nod. "I think so. It'd have been early but yeah."

I know what he's thinking. It's written all over the anguished expression on his face.

"Don't give up," I whisper. "Please. _Please_. I feel like you're giving up already. On us. You're selling yourself to this place and it's not… you haven't been tried yet. Please, don't give up. I need you. _We_ need you. Promise me you'll do everything you can to get outta here? Promise me?"

When he whispers he promises in my ear, my shoulders sag with relief. "I love you," I tell him as the door opens, Jenks appearing.

Masen's still holding the ultrasound in his hand. "Can I keep this?"

I smile, hope blooming in my chest.

"Yeah, of course."

…

Max Masen Cullen is born in the early hours of a cold February morning in his waters, tiny but perfect.

My thumb strokes the dark peach fuzz on his head, his face scrunching up, pulling into a little frown. Charlotte fusses, plumping up my pillow, snapping pictures of me and him. She kisses my forehead, gazing down at him before extending a pinky, watching as he curls teeny, tiny fingers around it.

"He's beautiful, Momma. Well done, girl." We're silent for a minute just staring at perfection. "He looks like his daddy," she says softly. "I mean, it's weird cus newborns are all scrunched an' all, but you can just tell, can't you?"

"I know."

Max opens his eyes a little, blinking, yawning.

I bring him to my chest, so he's curled right above my heart. This tiny little life created out of love, a little piece of each of us.

And I have to be enough for him.

Alone.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

_Eighteen months later_

"Mrs. Cope?" I ask, looking around the waiting room with a medical chart held under my arm. An older lady staggers to her feet, skirt swaying, breathing heavily as she lumbers towards me.

"Where are we? I ain't walkin' far, bad enough Dr. Black treats me like a pincushion," she gripes.

"Just in this room, right here," I say, pointing my pen to the small consultation room three foot to our right. She grunts her approval and moves forward, me trailing her in.

Heidi joins me at that moment, a little squeeze to my shoulder.

"Hi, Mrs. Cope, how are we today?" she asks as I close the door behind us.

"Been better," Mrs. Cope mutters, sitting down heavily in the chair. "Why do I need two of you today? Dr. Black think I'm gonna put up a fight?"

I smile. He had warned me she could be pretty brutal.

"Well, if it's OK with you, I'm going to supervise Bella doing your blood draw today. She's a student, but I can assure you she's very good at finding those pesky veins."

"A student, huh? Well, I suppose that'd be alright. Gotta learn somehow. What are you studyin' for?"

"Just a medical assistant," I respond. It isn't quite the nursing option I wanted, but it's close enough, and I'm really enjoying it.

Heidi tuts behind me. "No 'just' about it. Medical assistants are an essential part of our team. They do lots of things that make life easier for me, as a nurse, and the doctors. And between you and me, she's smashing it."

"Well, better drain some blood out of me then. Have at it, missy."

By the time I've drawn three vials and labelled them correctly, checking and double checking the correct boxes are ticked for the lab, Mrs Cope is raring to go. I take her samples with me as I see her out, the clock above reception telling me I'm already fifteen minutes into my lunch.

Stealing away to the staff room, I bump into Dr. Black on my way in. We do a dance in the doorway until he's grinning at me, his hands coming out to hold me in place.

His touch makes me stiffen, and he must realize it because his hands withdraw into his chino pockets immediately.

"Mrs. Cope give you hell?" he enquires, his smile returning.

"Not as much as I was expectin'. She told me to 'have at it', so I guess I made the grade."

"You certainly do," he winks and I can feel my cheeks turning pink. "That reminds me, bring me your log sheets later on and I'll fill them in. I've not been the greatest at that, sorry."

"You're busy, it's fine. As long as all these hours are logged before the end of this semester..."

"Which is?"

"Three weeks' time."

"OK. I can do that. Have a nice lunch, Bella." He smiles again, running a hand through black hair before walking away, glancing over his shoulder again as he goes.

I move to the fridge, taking out my lunch bag.

"He so fancies you," Heidi says from the table, fork poised over a tupperware box full of salad.

I sit down next to her and bite the inside of my cheek.

"I don't think so."

"You seriously don't get the vibe?"

I shrug. There is one, but I don't even want to think about it, acknowledge it, or address it. It feels wrong.

"Look, I know you've got Max but you should really think about dating or something."

I shake my head, swallowing a mouthful of left over stir-fry I shoved hastily into a lunchbox this morning, somewhere between dressing and feeding Max breakfast and making sure his bag was packed for a day at his Nana's.

"Why are you shaking your head? Single moms need some love too. You know, when Seth was old enough to be left overnight, I was on the hunt for a real man—not just a sperm donor. Don't get me wrong, I kissed a fair few frogs before I found my Prince, but I had to put myself out there first."

My eyes slide over to Heidi, completely oblivious, feeling guilty that she has this impression of me that isn't strictly true. I haven't lied, but I haven't told her the truth either.

"I'm not—I'm not a single mom, Heidi," I confess quietly, staring hard at my lunch. "I'm married."

There's silence and when I risk looking at her, her blue eyes are wide and her mouth is slightly parted.

"Wait, what?" she exclaims, a little too loudly. A couple of the receptionists look over in our direction. She lowers her voice, "How did I not know this? You're _married_? You've never mentioned this before! All this time I've been trying to set you up and—"

"I know." I swallow hard, closing my eyes shut. "It's complicated. He's… away."

Maybe 'complicated' isn't the right word. Maybe 'away' isn't the right word either.

"Away _where_? You mean like, enlisted? In the army?"

I laugh a little. "No. Not like that. I mean—" I glance around, my voice little more than a whisper. "He's, um… He's serving time." My face heats, feeling ashamed. Ashamed of being ashamed, mostly. Almost two years and it still tears at my heart, conflicting emotions battling in my chest.

"For real?"

"Yeah."

The silence that follows is suffocating.

"Um, wow. I'm actually speechless right now. I never would've guessed. Is he..."

I squirm a little in my seat, stabbing at a water chestnut. "He's Max's dad. Look—I just keep it private, y'know? It's just... really, really difficult sometimes."

Most of the time.

_All the time._

"I get it," Heidi says, but I'm not sure she really does. "Well, I'll definitely hold fire on the match-making then." She smiles, popping a cherry tomato in her mouth. "And if you ever want to talk to me about it... like, really talk, then I'm always here."

I get the impression she wants to know more, but she doesn't even really need me for that. All she'd have to do is Google my name, and she'd know everything about everything.

I wouldn't even blame her if she did. In her shoes, I would probably do the same.

...

Two weeks later, it's my day off. No clinic, no college. Just me and Max and a whole sunny day stretching out before us.

The park is sticky hot by the time we make it out the house, still, humid air unmoving, suffocating. The weather pushing into the nineties and even right before ten in the morning, it's roasting. Sweat on my back as I push the swing, chubby little toddler rocking his body frantically for more, blue bucket hat hiding a mop of dark hair.

I push him harder, pulling fabric away from where it sticks.

"Two more minutes, Max," I tell him, glancing at the time on my watch.

"More, Mama," he squeals, little hands opening and closing rapidly.

Then all of a sudden Max doesn't want more. It's too much. His face crumples, and he starts crying. Plucking him out of the swing, I balance him on my hip as I head for the stroller in the shade.

A long glug on his sippy cup and some carrot sticks and the tears streaking his face have all but stopped. I wipe them away with the pad of my thumb, gazing at his little profile, my heart so full of love I can't quite describe it. I love being his Mommy, and I'm proud of our journey together; even though we're mostly doing this alone and it's been hard. Like indescribably hard. The hardest thing I've ever done.

Not out of choice, but… I look at my watch. We could visit today… It's pushing it though, and I'm still annoyed at him. Masen.

An argument. Not our first, and undoubtedly not our last, but definitely our worst since he's been locked away.

I sigh, strapping Max into the stroller.

"Mama's got some stuff to do around the house before we go see Auntie Charlotte. Are you gonna be good for Mommy?"

"No!"

"Great! Let's go!"

...

Before we leave the park, a lone figure sitting on the bench nearest the entrance catches my eye. My steps slow, the slapping of my sandals against my heels coming to an abrupt stop.

He stands when he sees me, adjusting a dark suit jacket before walking over with purpose, looking out of place in the blazing sun, sticking out against a background of green.

Heart hammering against my chest, my hands tighten on the stroller as he tosses his cigarette to the ground, crushing it underneath his foot.

"_Princess_."

His gaze finds Max in the stroller and he crouches down before I can stop him, taking Max's hand, rubbing his thumb against the back of it. "_Ain't you grown? Daddy's mini-me, huh?_"

I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to snatch Max up and run away like I desperately want to.

"What do you want, Alec?"

He squints up at me, a slow smile spreading over his face as he rises to his feet.

"Masen. Still got another year left, or so I hear… Set me up visitation with him."

I'd laugh if he wasn't serious.

"No."

"No?"

"You heard me. He did what you wanted, and you fucked him over. He don't owe you anything. _I_ don't owe you anything. So, no."

"This is business. It's not personal. How'd it have looked if I'd let him just walk away?"

"I don't care how it looked!" I snap. "If you weren't OK with us leaving, why did you let us? _You_ were fine with it." I shake my head, teeth gritted. "Your family has done _enough_. Just leave us the hell alone!"

I start walking, not wanting to entertain him for a second longer. I've only gone four or five steps, pushing the stroller when his voice calls after me.

"You're wrong."

I stop.

"_Who do you think got those murder charges dropped, Doll?_"

I close my eyes, clenching my jaw.

"_That's right. So I'd reconsider what I'm asking you, unless you want Masen to spend the rest of his days in lockup. You got it?_"

"You can't do that!" My mouth goes dry as I whirl around to face him. He steps closer to me again, glancing around as a few people look over at my outburst.

"Your choice. All I need is for you to do me a favor… You work that power of persuasion you've always had over him, huh? I know he weren't pleased, but we're brothers. Went through a lot before you came along and put fuckin' _ideas_ in his head."

He pauses, icy blue eyes sweeping over me, his mouth curling.

"How 'bout I try an' get some time knocked off for this? I mean, how long's it been? Since you had him between your thighs?"

My face flushes. _Too long_.

"Thought so," Alec laughs. "Bet you're fuckin' gagging for it. I'd love to help out, but me and Maria, we're engaged now."

I'm shaking my head at his arrogance. As if I'd _ever_ touch him, as if I'd ever want him to touch me.

"I'd heard. Congrats, I hope to God she knows what a backstabbing, two-faced liar you are."

Alec grins, bouncing on his feet, drawing his lip between his teeth. "Maybe I'd make an exception for you after all, Princess. That spark you got, gets me weak every time."

"You're disgusting."

His mouth twitches.

"You'll be there? At the wedding? Maria would be made up."

A laugh escapes, incredulous. My friendship with Maria died the day she chose Alec, knowing what he'd done to Masen. _To me_. We haven't spoken since the day I picked up my things from her place.

"Not a chance."

His cell goes off and he looks at it, starting to walk away. He turns, walking backwards a few steps, pointing a finger at me as he puts his cell to his ear. "Set it up, Princess, and you ain't got nothin' to worry about."

…

I do worry though. I worry all the way home, so distracted I can't remember how we've got there, feeling like everything I'm striving for is about to come crashing down around my shoulders.

Life isn't perfect. Far from it; but it's quiet. We have routine and stability, and I wouldn't give it up for anything. Every day is one day closer to Masen getting out. A day closer to becoming a normal family.

Alec… He'll ruin that, I know it.

Just him showing up today is bad news.

I jam the key in the front door, glad to be in air-conditioned coolness, feeling safer once we're both behind the door of the house Max and I call home; a modest two-story in suburbia with a decent backyard.

Masen sold his apartment and the range in the months after I told him I was pregnant. It was his priority that he took care of us the only way he could. After paying his court mandated fine, he transferred the rest to me. I didn't go crazy; I bought what we needed with Esme's help.

We're not rich, but what we had left over after buying the house, furniture, and a car means I don't have to worry about working just yet and can concentrate on completing school.

If we were really desperate for money, I know Papà would help, even though our relationship is difficult. _He's_ difficult; to read, to talk to. I want to make up for lost time, but it all feels too late, too forced. I try anyway because I know he likes to see me and Max, and I hope one day things will get easier between us. Maybe when he's released, they will. Maybe if he accepts Masen. For now, he's still inside. Even though his murder convictions were quashed a while ago, he's still serving time on racketeering charges.

Glancing at a sleeping Max, I brush the back of my hand down a chubby cheek. Carefully unclipping the straps, I lift him from his stroller, slowly carrying him up the stairs to his nursery. Singing a little '_Ninna nanna, ninna oh, questo bimbo a chi lo dò?'_ to him when he stirs. Waiting a few minutes, I make sure he's sound asleep, and the monitor is on before I creep out of his room.

Pausing at the foot of the stairs, I eye a white envelope on the doormat that I swear wasn't there when we came in. Picking it up, I turn it over in my hand, cursive script addressed to Masen and me.

Inside, on thick-weighted card, is the invitation Alec promised for spring next year. I tap it against my bottom lip, eyes darting all over the house.

I stalk over to the living room window, peering out at the street, looking this way and that. It hasn't got a stamp, which means it must've been pushed under the door in the few minutes I was upstairs with Max.

I curse, dropping the gauzy white curtain.

Alec knows where we live.

It's just like him to play like this; a subtle reminder that he's in control.

I pull out my cell, texting Demetri before going from door to window, checking every single one is locked, unable to settle until I hear the roar of his motorbike in the driveway forty minutes later.

We've grown close over the last few years; he's a constant presence in our lives and unlike Papà, our relationship is easy.

No sooner is he through the door; Max is waking up. I dash up the stairs to find him sleepily blinking at me, rubbing an eye, one side of his face red from him lying on it.

"Mama!" he demands, standing up in his cot. "Up!"

I smile and smooth down ruffled hair as he lays his head on my shoulder, only lifting it up when we're back down in the kitchen and he hears Demetri's voice.

"So, where's the fire?" Demetri asks, extending his arms to take Max from me. Flipping the switch on the kettle, I get two mugs ready before leaning against the counter and crossing my arms.

"Alec. Tracked me down to the park today to ask me to set up visitation with Masen."

Demetri stops pulling faces at Max.

"Really now?" he says. "And you're worried?"

"I don't know. I don't know what he wants from him, but he was… he implied he got Masen's murder charges dropped. That he could make them reappear if I didn't set it up." I pause, trying to formulate my thoughts. "Do you think that's true?"

Demetri's face is serious when I slide his cup of coffee over to him. "We were all surprised the charges were dropped. Something felt off about it at the time, I said that."

Max was barely three weeks old, and I was in a fog of exhaustion. That call from Jenks telling me the charges were being dropped though, I can remember that as clear as day. I couldn't understand it, they were weeks away from going to trial but I just accepted it; we all just accepted it because it was the best news. Who were we to question that? We were going to get Masen back. Not for a while, but eventually.

"Just feel... concerned that Alec knows where we live. And as if Masen is ever going to agree to see him." I sweep hair out of my eyes. "Don't even know whether he'll see me right now."

Demetri's lips purse. He looks a little shifty.

"He's an idiot," he says eventually. "He knows he messed up."

"You… did you talk to him?" I ask suspiciously.

Demetri looks guilty as sin.

"You did! When?"

"Last week. He called askin' me how you were. Didn't like seeing you so upset. Laid it out to him. He should be grateful you're waiting around for him at all."

I take a sip of too hot coffee, regretting it instantly, watching as Max tries to reach for Demetri's mug as he moves it out of his way.

He sees Masen regularly. I've no idea what they talk about, but I've always thought it's nice he does that, seeing how his brother hasn't gone near the place, ever.

"So, what do I do?"

"Tell Masen," Demetri says. "It's up to him, he can hear Alec out and go from there. As for Alec knowing where you are… I can stay over if it makes you feel better, but he's probably known all along. I think if he'd wanted to hurt you, he'd have done it by now. He'd have let it happen, way back."

I take Max, blowing out a breath, pressing a kiss into dark hair, rewarded with a giggle. "Guess we're gonna have to see your Daddy then, hey, bubba? Auntie Char's gonna be so disappointed missing out on all your cuddles."

…

The correctional facility Masen is housed in is federal ran, a two-and-a-half hour round trip we make as often as we're allowed. Usually he's allowed four hours a month, which makes the five-week months difficult.

He's already sitting at a table in the visitation room when we get there, late and flustered. Max needed a diaper change just after we went through security, except I forgot the wipes, so I had to go back to the car and back through it all over again.

The only silver lining is the packet from the vending machines Max is now hugging tightly to his chest: mini Oreos.

"Dadda!" Max shouts as he spots Masen, bouncing slightly in my arms, leaning forward to get to him.

I put him down as Masen looks up, his face breaking out into a grin. He gets out of his chair, crouching, arms open wide as Max toddles towards him as fast as he can, scooping him up, lifting him skywards, earning a shriek of delight.

Esme and Elizabeth put together a whole scrapbook of pictures of family for Max, heavily slanted towards Masen: new ones, old ones, ones we got off his phone of me and him once the cops released it back to us. It's one of his favorite things to look through, pointing out all his favorite people.

"You get bigger every time I see you," Masen's saying to Max when I reach his table. "Gonna be as big as me soon, huh?" He holds him super close, a kiss to his forehead as Max smiles really wide, hands coming either side of his face to cup his cheeks and kiss him back.

Fleeting memories of the first time they met resurface. Masen cradling our tiny precious boy, no more than a week old. The setting wasn't ideal, but Masen was enamoured, placing a sweet, tender kiss to his forehead, looking up at me, his eyes shining.

"He's… amazing. You're amazing, Bella. I'm so fuckin' proud of you."

He looks over the top of Max's head at me as I slide into my seat, and I don't know whether he thinks that anymore.

Keeping up a relationship when one of you is under lock and key is tricky. There's no privacy, no room for intimacy, conversations on the phone can be cut short at any moment, and things get lost in translation all the time. But we've stuck at it, so far, despite everything.

"Hey," Masen says cautiously. He doesn't reach for me, and that hurts even though I know he's in the wrong here. "You talkin' to me now?"

"I'm still mad." I slip into my seat.

He looks down.

"But…?" he says looking up again, sensing my hesitation. I frown, unsure whether ploughing straight into this thing with Alec is wise.

"What's the matter?" Masen asks concerned. "You look upset. Look, I'm sorry—"

"It's not about that." I tug the sleeves of my cardigan down so the cuff covers my knuckles. "Just, don't flip out, OK?"

Masen runs a hand through buzz cut hair, down the back of his neck, pulling at the collar of the white t-shirt under his jumpsuit.

"You ain't filling me with confidence here, B," Masen tells me flatly. "Go on."

"Alec… He, um… he showed up at the park today when I was with Max."

Masen's face instantly clouds. "He showed up? What the fuck did he want?"

"Just… long story short... he wants to visit you." My eyes flash to Max. "And can you please not swear? He's like a sponge at the moment. Last thing I need is him shouting the F-bomb at Moms and Tots."

"Sorry," Masen says. "Habit."

I fidget. "I told him you wouldn't. See him. He wasn't—wasn't taking no for an answer. He enlightened me to a few things… you need to see him."

"Enlightened you? What the fu-, what's that supposed to mean? Did he threaten you?" Masen says, jiggling Max on his leg.

"He said if I didn't the charges against you might reappear."

Masen swears under his breath, sitting back, focusing on Max intently as he finds a snap on his jumpsuit. He looks away for a minute, contemplating. "What else did he say?"

I push my hair back. "Nothin' important."

Masen gives me a look, like he knows I'm holding back, but I can just picture how he'd react to Alec's suggestion of 'helping me out', so I avoid it. His jealousy is part of the reason why we're arguing.

"It's up to you if you wanna see what he has to say. I'm just passing on the message."

Max tries to crawl across the table towards me, but Masen lifts him instead, so he's stood balancing on his legs, fingers curled around Masen's thumbs tightly.

"That the only reason you're here?" Masen asks, searching me out.

"So Max can see you too," I tell him.

"Not you though."

"You said some pretty shitty things last time," I tell him, folding my arms. His eyes bounce to my tits at the movement, then back to my face. His tongue swiping at his lower lip, swallowing.

"I'm sorry. I didn't—do you know how it makes me feel? Knowin' my _wife_ is havin' dates with some fu-"

"There you go again... It wasn't a date! I _work_ with him in the clinic; there were two other girls there! You're taking somethin' and twisting it in your head into something it really wasn't."

My hand reaches for him as he looks away from me, jaw set, tense. His fingers though, they curl around mine squeezing.

"Does he like you?"

"It doesn't matter even if he does. I promised you I'd wait, and that's what I'm doin', Masen. You got nothing to worry about... this jealousy thing you got goin' on has gotta stop. I hate it."

I'm satisfied when he looks at me and I can see the remorse in his eyes.

Max is shaking the pack of Oreos with enthusiasm now. "Maaamaaaa," he says, shoving them at me.

I open them, giving him one that he clutches too tightly in his fists, crumbs dropping onto the table, before he smashes it into his mouth. Masen reaches for the packet, taking four, leaving me the rest.

"I shouldn't have said what I did," Masen says. "I'm sorry I was being a di—, I wasn't being fair on you. Garrett had just found out his girl had been cheatin' on him and I just… I… it was the last thing I needed to hear. I'm just so tired of this." He gestures round.

He's not wrong. This place, these visits, or lack of visits, seeing other happy couples and feeling alone, my heart aching for all the things he's missing out on with his son. I'm tired of it too. It's exhausting.

"We're all countin' down the days... Just under a year and you're out. Which is why you need to see Alec, if he's being serious. Which we both know he is."

"All gone!" Max announces, looking into the empty packet.

"Yeah, man, all gone." Masen looks amused, then wistful, a sadness there. "He's growin' real fast, ain't he? Missin' out on so much, with both of you."

"Less than a year," I repeat.

"One year," he repeats and groans. "Feels like a fu- freakin' lifetime." He blows out a breath, nuzzling his nose into the back of Max's hair. "I'll see Alec. Can't promise I won't break his face, but I'll see him."

I raise an eyebrow, and he finally smiles.

"Joking."

We both know he really isn't.

"And I am really sorry for what I said. I miss you so much."

"Me too."

By the end of our visit we've reached a sort of normality; he holds me tight when we say bye, his fingers lingering on my waist, a kiss planted to my temple, an 'I love you' in my ear.

And that moment, where we have to let go and walk away is forever the hardest part of it all.

...

Summer slips by in a haze of sunshine; trips to the lake, picnics in the park, lazy afternoons in the garden with a paddling pool, Max smelling of sunblock and sun-sweaty skin.

Masen doesn't mention Alec to me again, and for a while I don't ask, I try to put it to the back of my mind because my day-to-day is busy: Max, toddler groups, my ongoing therapy sessions with Irina, visiting Papà, visiting Masen, studying, completing my final week at the clinic. _Life_ is busy.

Autumn creeps in and with it I graduate with the offer of a job in the practice I currently work in; I accept on a part-time basis, still wanting a few days at home with Max and needing days free for visitation. Charlotte, Esme, and Elizabeth all come along to watch me receive my diploma on a chilled autumn morning a few days after my birthday, Max in tow. I get spectacularly drunk, celebrating afterward with Heidi and Charlotte, blowing off a year of hard work. Masen even manages to arrange flowers and a handwritten letter with words so sweet it makes me cry.

Max gets bigger, his vocabulary growing as fast as his legs seem to be. Sometimes I look at him and I find it hard to believe I gave birth to him. A couple of stretch marks on my hips are the only clue I was ever pregnant, but even they've faded.

One visit to see Masen just before Halloween, and I can't wait any longer. I know Jenks has visited Masen a lot more recently, so I ask him outright.

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, Max perched on his knee, scribbling furiously with some coloring pencils and a piece of paper one of the female guards brought over for him to stop his impending tantrum.

"I saw him," Masen admits to me quietly.

"So... what did he want?"

I can only think of one thing that he wants from Masen: him back, working for him. The thought fills me with so much dread and anger that before he can even speak, my mouth is running.

"And if you're gonna say what I think you're gonna say, don't even…" I trail off, unable to hide how mad it makes me feel.

Masen blinks. "I promised you I'd do whatever it takes not to end up in here for the rest of my life," he says, his voice low. "He's got me over a barrel here and there ain't a whole lot I can do about it in a cell."

My face must say it all. Disbelief gripping every muscle and tightening it.

"Unbelievable."

"Do you trust me?"

"You know I do," I tell him, almost resentfully. "But you _said_ no more of this stuff. Don't you remember?"

"I remember. But you're gonna have to trust me on this, OK?"

I'm not looking at him until he ducks his head, forcing me to meet his eyes.

"Bella..."

"Fine, OK. Whatever." I rub my face, feeling frustrated. "He's really gonna come in and fuck everything up again, isn't he?"

Masen's face twists, eyes angry. "Not if I can help it."

"Car!" Max points to his scribbled red blob, looking for confirmation from Masen, breaking the tension between us. "Dadda, car."

"That's um… pretty great?" He looks back over to me mouthing, "Where are the wheels?"

I laugh. "If he says that's what it is, you gotta believe it."

"You just wait until I can take you for a spin," Masen says to Max. "I love cars too." He looks up at me. "Me and Emmett are putting some plans in place to set up the garage. Early days but looking at doing custom mods. He's going searching for premises this week."

"That's great." My smile is genuine. I enjoy seeing him animated about stuff like this, especially when on so many of our visits I can see how deeply unhappy he is.

"Yeah, it feels good, to be makin' plans like that. For when I'm gettin' out."

Because it's not a question of if, it's a question of when. He smiles, and this one lights up his whole face.

"It's going to be OK, B. You'll see."


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

Papà is sat stoic in front of me, his eyes traveling around the room in sharp assessment. He's like that—aware, alert at all times. I can't help but draw similarities between him and the man he still doesn't think I should've married, because whether he wants to admit it or not, they're so similar at times it makes my head spin.

Max isn't here today. He's disappointed but when we spoke the other day, he said he had something he wanted to discuss and with Max at an age where holding serious conversations for longer than thirty seconds is a chore; I thought it was best.

Papà leans forward, elbows on the tabletop, rubbing his hands together slowly.

"_I found out what happened to your Nonna's money_."

My mouth drops open a little. "_You did_?"

"Mmm. _Had a couple of contacts do some work for me. It took them a little while... It was signed over to that garbage you were with before_."

I hang my head as he continues.

"_Whether that's legitimate or whether he forged your signature, I don't know_. _He bought a diner in—_"

"_I know where it is_," I interrupt, avoiding his eyes.

I could slap my younger self for being idiotic enough to think I was anything more than easy prey to James. It makes me feel sick, how he could face me day after day, tell me he loved me, make me believe it was true; when all that time he was lying to my face. Gambling and snorting away what was mine.

"_I'm so sorry_. _Is there nothing we can do about it_?" I ask eventually.

Papà shakes his head. My shoulders slump, feeling guilty, naïve… ashamed. I still can't shake it, even now. The humiliation I feel for letting another person treat me that way. For being so gullible to his true colors, for trusting him above anyone else. The intensity of it has lessened over time, but no matter how hard I've worked at this with Irina, it's the most difficult feeling to shake, especially when things like this surface.

"_It's not your fault_," Papà says gently.

"That's not true," I say. "I've got to take responsibility for somethin', Papà. I'm sorry. I can't remember whether I did or not. I just..." I trail off, haplessly.

"It's nothing in the grand scheme of things. It doesn't matter. He already paid the price."

I nod, unconvinced. How he can shrug off tens of thousands of dollars, I'll never know. I'm quiet for the rest of our visit, answering distractedly about our plans for Thanksgiving.

"Um, spending it with Masen's mom, his sister-in-law, Esme… and his brother, if he doesn't have to work. Demetri's invited too." I tell him, and then I can't help but confess something I've been observing for a while. "Think he's got a thing for Elizabeth."

Papà doesn't smile often, but he does now. "_Really now_?"

"Mmmhm. They'd be good together, I think."

Our goodbye lingers today. Maybe Papà can sense I'm upset because he does something he hasn't done before: he pulls me into his embrace. I'm glad for it, my arms winding around his middle as I fight back tears.

"You take care, OK?"

"OK," I echo.

I drive to the diner on a whim, parking in the small lot. My old car is long gone, and for a minute I just sit and watch; the traffic, the neighborhood kids on the corner undeterred by the biting winter cold, still laughing it up, sharing earbuds, jaywalking across to a little newsagent that's opened up across the way.

I look back toward the diner, going to rack and ruin. Boarded up, graffiti everywhere.

This place. It holds so many memories, so many days spent clock watching, living in a perpetual state of anxiousness… and then Masen. Showing up after he helped destroy the place. I can still remember the heat creeping over me when he said my name, the flutter of a heart betraying the attraction I had to him.

I start up the engine again, a heavy sigh, the dull ache in my chest growing bigger the more I think of him. It's the quiet moments where I'm alone when it hits and hurts the most.

...

It's a few days after Thanksgiving and Max's giggles are bordering on hysterical as he runs around the house after Charlotte. The Buzz Lightyear action figure she and Petey spoilt him with is held tightly in his hands, all the buttons being pressed at the same time.

"Buzz-buzz Lightyear to the rescue! I come in peace! To infinity and beyond!"

I almost don't hear the door above the shrieks of laughter, drying off my hands from cleaning up the dishes. My smile fades to a frown when I realize the time.

The knock gets a little louder, a little more impatient. Checking through the viewer, I can see Demetri stood on the porch, bouncing on his feet, his breath rising in the freezing temperatures.

"Hey," I say as I open the door, moving away to let him in. "You've missed dinner but I've just put away some leftovers, I can get you some if you're hungry? Charlotte's here too."

I turn back, but he's not moving.

"No thanks. Doubt I'll be staying long. Just wanted to drop something off." His gnarly face breaks out into a smile and now I'm utterly confused.

"Um, OK?" I come back towards him, pulling at the sleeve of my blouse. "Drop what off?"

He steps to the side, then jerks his head toward his car parked on the street.

My head swims, one hand finding the doorjamb, the other across my mouth.

"But…"

I swallow the lump in my throat, my stomach flipping as I hear the thump of his bag hitting the ground… and I don't need anything else. I'm running down the steps two at a time, barefoot.

My body collides with his, arms wrapping around his neck, as his hands curl around me, holding me deathly tight.

"Oh my God!" I cry pulling back to look at him, to double-check I'm not just imagining him. My voice goes higher in pitch, choked. "You're _here_."

Masen smiles up at me, cupping my face as my eyes search his. "I'm home."

His mouth is on mine rapidly, hand finding the back of my neck, caressing, sending little jolts down my spine. Slow, tender, tentative, sweet. It's so familiar yet so foreign, but he kisses just as good as I remember. _Better_. The taste of freedom on his tongue.

"Fuck," he huffs into my mouth, pulling away. I stifle a laugh into his neck, breathing him in. He smells different—not bad, but not what I remember—and his clothes don't look like him either:; a polo shirt, sweatpants. He looks like a frat boy, and I have to fight back the laughter that wants to escape.

"How is this even happening!? You're not supposed to be out for months? I don't understand!"

Masen waves it off. "Eh. Good behavior, freeing up space… Did I surprise you?"

"Yes. I'm… I wasn't. I had no idea! No idea! How did I not know?!" I shake my head, my smile splitting my face. "Oh my God!"

The weight of it hits me like a sledgehammer.

He's here.

He's home.

For real.

The relief is almost paralyzing. All the pressure, the stress of the last few years drains out of me, because I'm not alone anymore.

"Don't cry," he hushes, thumb catching wetness, brushing it away.

I sniff, wiping my eyes. "I'm just… We've been waitin' for this for so long, and now you're _here_. You're actually _here_! For real. And you didn't even tell me you _jerk_."

He laughs as I cling to him tighter—, half laughing, half crying.

"Hey, c'mon, gonna make me cry too." He kisses me again. "Good surprise though, right?"

"The best. Max is gonna be so excited!"

I look towards the house. _Our house._

Demetri's disappeared inside, presumably to give us some privacy, but it's freezing out and my teeth are beginning to chatter, goosebumps prickling. Masen picks his bag up, slinging an arm around my shoulders as we walk, his lips finding my temple.

He pauses before we go in, twirling me around, kissing me again until I'm against the house. It's deep, frantic, heat licking between us, an undertone of desperation. His bag is on the floor again, one hand under my blouse, thumb sliding over my rib cage, the other gripping my ass, his whole body pushing into mine.

He pulls away, but I whimper 'more'.

"The things I'm gonna do to you," he whispers just before his mouth meets mine again.

"Get a room!" I hear Charlotte holler to our right. "There are kids here, y'know. And neighbors. Sure some of 'em are paying a premium for adult entertainment but that might not be necessary if you're roundin' the bases on your frickin' porch!"

I turn my face to her laughing, Max in her arms. She's turning to him, making kissy faces. "Urgh, Maxi-moo. They're gonna be so icky. How 'bout Auntie Char saves your ears and has you overnight, hmm?"

Masen grins at me as I bite kiss-swollen lips, but then shakes his head.

"Nah. It's cool. I want to spend my first night as a free man with my wife and my kid, all under one roof."

…

I can't keep the smile off my face as Masen devours re-heated ravioli in our kitchen, telling me how hard it's been keeping it all a secret. He didn't want to get my hopes up, thought this was better.

My eyes are glued to him, Max sat on his lap, watching his every movement, the surrealness of him being here not wearing off anytime soon. I still can't quite get my head around it.

"You make this yourself?" he asks, dragging his finger around the plate and licking it clean.

"Uh-huh. I mean, I didn't make the pasta, I buy that, but the filling and the sauce is Nonna's recipe."

"It's great."

I shrug, embarrassed.

"No, really. Embracin' your roots?"

I raise my hand and barely pinch my fingers. "_Tiny bit. Maybe_."

Masen looks down at Max, playing with his fork. "_Ain't we lucky? Your Mom's pretty incredible_."

Max yawns in response, eyes heavy.

"When does he go to bed?"

"About now. He usually goes off OK, but he still wakes up at night… ends up in my bed… I'm just warning you. He's brutal when it comes to space."

Masen just nods. "OK. Can I- Can I help you?" He sounds nervous, and it makes my heart squeeze. I know he's been worried about this. Being Dad. Visits are one thing, this is entirely different but even that can't dim my smile.

"Let's put you to work, Daddy."

...

Stood in the doorway of Max's room, I watch as Masen reads him a bedtime story, Max snuggled against his chest. I take out my cell and snap a picture, wanting to remember every little detail, savor it, bask in something I hoped for so badly; but for many reasons, it almost felt like an impossible goal. And now it's happening, my heart feels like it can't quite take it.

I could never have imagined him doing anything like this when we first met. _Not ever_. I've tried not to imagine it either because it hurt too much to acknowledge all the things they were both missing out on.

But now… silent tears sneak down my face, emotions play king.

My boys. My family. Together at long last.

It's everything I wanted.

When Masen finally tucks Max in and slips out the room, he finds me sitting on the landing, crying. Tugging me to my feet, we hold each other until I'm reaching up on my tiptoes and kissing him until I can't breathe.

"Show me our room," he murmurs.

I take his hand, leading him to the first room at the top of the stairs, at the front of the house. His side of the bed is ever the reminder he's missing. Nothing personal on his nightstand, a wardrobe full of his clothes from his apartment that have been hanging untouched for years.

There's a moment just after the bedroom door clicks closed behind us where he scrutinizes me from head to toe.

His hand still in mine, he steps closer, his thumb coming to trace my lower lip.

"Thank you. For waitin' for me." He kisses the corner of my mouth. "For Max." The other corner. "For holding everythin' together." His eyes search mine. "I love you."

The last kiss is the one that deepens. A match being struck, a switch flipped. Knees weak, anticipation pulsing, he walks me back until my legs hit the bed and I'm lying on sheets that only smell of me, impatience burning as his weight settles between my legs.

We aren't slow or gentle. He's biting at my neck and my tits and down my stomach, hands shaking as he draws back and undoes all the buttons on my blouse.

"You weren't lyin' about working out," I murmur, trying to cover myself with my hands as he sheds the polo shirt. He was built before but now he's bigger. His arms, his chest, his legs. I squirm nervously, insecurities flaring up. "Then there's me…"

"Still killin' me." His mouth by my ear, attacking my neck again, hand warm as he unhooks my bra. "Still the hottest thing I've ever seen. I've been thinkin' 'bout this for so long, B. Your tits, your pussy, your ass, those little fuckin' moans you make when I'm makin' you feel real good."

My hips raise as his palm glides down my side, pulling off my jeans and my panties, until I'm bare underneath him. He groans when his fingers touch hot wet flesh, and the hiss coming out of my mouth is almost pained.

I reach for his cock, but he moves away. "Bella, if you touch my dick right now, I'm gonna lose it. Not gonna be able to apologize enough for this non-event."

I laugh. "We got time, not expectin' a marathon after so long—"

"_Too_ fuckin' long. Now, c'mere and sit on my face."

I blink at him, but he's already moving me so I'm positioned over him. My grip on the headboard tightens as he works me over, licking and sucking until I'm panting his name and begging for him. He doesn't stop though, gripping my thighs to hold me still until I'm muffling my own bliss by biting down hard on my arm.

I scoot down his body, hovering over him, the tip of his cock hot against me as he leans forward to capture my mouth with his, tasting myself on his tongue. He groans, my hands cradling his face, thumbs brushing the stubble along his jaw.

His hands finding my hips, squeezing and pinching. I can tell he's aching to push into me, push me down onto him.

"On the pill," I tell him, answering the question in his hesitation.

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, he eases himself in slowly. My worries about how this would feel after having a baby—and after so long—are washed away with mutual moans of satisfaction when we're finally flush against each other.

"I missed you. This," he says with a shuddery inhale. "God, you feel so fuckin' good. So tight and wet and hot. Fuck, baby."

His arms wrap around me, pulling me closer as I roll my hips slowly over him. His eyes squeezing closed in concentration. When they open, there's fire dancing as he watches me.

"So fucking beautiful, B. Shit."

Our movements quicken, suddenly frantic, desperate. "I can't," he grinds out, shaking his head. "You feel too good." When he comes a few seconds later, it's my name on his lips as he shudders, muscles tensing beneath me.

We laugh off the speed of it, touching and talking until he's inside me again a few hours later and then again; until we're both a sweaty tangle of limbs on crumpled sheets.

"I'm so glad you're home," I whisper into his ear just before we fall asleep, wrapped up in each other.

"Me too. I ain't ever leavin' you again. I swear."

...

Hands pull me by my hips back onto him, over and over. I'm close, his cock hitting all the right places.

"I can't get enough of you. Jesus," Masen growls, hand coming to tease my clit, a kiss to my back.

"Harder," I moan. "Fuck me harder."

That's what tips me over the edge. Him too. His weight slamming into me, a snarl at the back of his throat.

We slow; him pulsing, me clenching, riding it out together.

No sooner has he pulled out, Max is crying from his room.

"Oh, shit," I pant, looking for clothes that are strewn all over the place.

Nothing like a dose of reality to kill any afterglow.

Naptime is over.

"I got him," Masen says, kissing me deep, reaching for boxers and jeans. He disappears to our ensuite as Max's cries get louder.

The mom in me wants to move, run and grab him, but I've got to step back and let Masen do these things too. Trust someone else to be at his beck and call. It's harder than I thought it would be; sharing parental duties that used to be mine alone.

Masen disappears out the room as I flop back on the bed catching my breath.

He isn't wrong, I can't get enough either. Making up for all the time we missed. Hot, fast, and dirty; to downright achingly slow and tender. Anytime we can, anywhere we can. Just _because_ we can.

"Hey, little guy, you just wake up, huh? You worried?" I hear Masen say from Max's room.

"Mama gone. Dadda gone!" Max replies in his best angry voice.

"Nah, we were here. Just cos you can't see us, don't mean we're not around."

I smile. Masen's really trying. It's been a tough month with him settling back in at home. There's this frenetic energy around him. He wants to do everything and nothing, and I'm still having to remind him that there's time for everything.

I guess it's all adjustment. He's lived in a micromanaged, cutthroat environment for over two years. To now be able to do what he wants, when he wants—for the most part—is novel.

He still has to have regular meetings with his parole officer, submit to random drug tests, and abide by a curfew, but apart from that...

I startle as Masen pushes our bedroom door open again, Max in his arms as I pull sheets over me.

"Look, there's Mommy."

"Hey, baby."

"Mama sleep?"

"Aaah. No," Masen says, with a laugh, eyes shooting over to me, amused. "You wanna go out for lunch?"

"Yeah, sure. Give me like thirty minutes?"

I'm ready in forty, a quick shower, getting dressed in black skinny jeans, knee-high boots, and a black leather jacket, hair thrown up and a little makeup thrown on.

We don't go anywhere too fancy, just a restaurant that doesn't mind wild toddlers running around, bringing us all the menus and bursting into tears when his juice box runs out before the food has even arrived.

"Damn, he's hard work," Masen says, retrieving him for the fifth time, sitting him down in the high chair despite the protests. "Cute, but fu- really hard work."

I hand Max some coloring crayons and the children's menu with a color by numbers on the back, hoping it'll distract him for more than a minute.

"He's just exploring. Sitting is way too boring at this age."

"Reckon he's gonna be trouble when he's older," Masen says. "Sign of things to come… if he's anything like me…"

"Don't scare me like that," I moan with a soft laugh. "Gonna be grey all over by the time I hit forty if that's the case."

The waitress arrives with our food and with it I can see her staring at us, like she's trying to place a face. Sometimes it clicks, sometimes it doesn't.

"Do I…" she trails off, unsure. "Sorry, I'm sure I recognize y'all from somewhere."

Masen clears his throat and shakes his head. "I don't think so."

She peers at him for what seems like a beat too long before she disappears again.

"That happen a lot?"

"Not so much anymore," I tell him as I chop up Max's chicken nuggets. "Happened a lot at the start. Hated it. Mind, should've seen the faces of the moms at one of the baby groups when they found out who I was. Could've cried."

Masen frowns. "You never told me that."

"You were dealing with enough. Besides, don't need those kinds of friends, y'know? Better off with the ones who've stuck by."

"You never talk about Maria no more either."

I stab at a fry with my fork, tight-lipped.

"We had a fight when I went to pick up my stuff after you got sentenced. She refused to believe it was Alec who'd done what he did. Got a bit heated. Anyway, sure she's doing alright if they're engaged now."

Masen just shakes his head. "That's never gonna last."

"Why'd you think that?"

"Alec ain't the type to settle down. His first wife was proof of that."

I skip over the fact Alec's been married before because really, that doesn't surprise me.

"Neither were you," I point out. "Now look at you. Married with a kid. You ever think we'd end up here? If you'd have told me that when I first met you, I would've laughed in your face."

He softens when he looks between Max and me; he doesn't speak for a minute, finishing a mouthful of burger.

"I didn't want those things 'til you. You were different, you know that."

"Not blonde, for one."

His eyebrows raise.

"Oh, come on! Tanya, Kate. There's a theme there."

He just shrugs.

"Took me a while to figure it out," he admits. "But you weren't... fake. No agenda. You were real. And you were hurtin' and I wanted to make it better. I wanted to be a better person for you. I still do. You made me feel like I could do that. Be that person."

"And you say you aren't good with words." I lean over the table and kiss him hard.

"Me kiss!" a little voice says to my left. I turn and plant a couple on baby soft cheeks as Max giggles.

"You _are_ that person, Masen," I say, because he needs to know. He did make it better.

We leave the restaurant with each of us holding one of Max's hands as he walks in between us, smiling brightly as we pass people on our way to the lot.

I think I love these little things the most. The ones most people take for granted. Just being together.

We're about to cross to the car when a familiar head of dark, curly hair catches my eye, waiting by a silver Mercedes, a thinner Ben at his side, smoking as he leans against it.

I look at Masen, eyes wide, finding his jaw set. "How—" I begin, but he's already fishing keys out of his pocket, letting Max's hand go.

"Get in the car."

His tone tells me there's no room for discussion.

"_What's the matter, Princess_? _You ain't even going to say 'hello'_?" Alec asks to my retreating back.

I pause, picking Max up, looking at him with the disdain he deserves.

"_Why say hello to bad news_?"


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

A chorus of 'happy birthday' fills the air, our house crammed full of our nearest and dearest. Max is the centre of attention, squished between me and Masen, two flickering candles lighting up his happy little face.

I'm feeling super emotional as he attempts to blow them out, clapping for himself when he manages one. A whole two years since he was born and I can hardly believe it.

Masen catches my eye over the top of his head, his arm around my shoulder. He smiles, fingers tickling the nape of my neck.

Things have been tense underneath the surface. Ever since Christmas when the calls started up, day and night; him sloping off with pitiful excuses, when I know it's to do with Alec. I resent them and him; the promise he made left in tatters. He's risking everything, and for what?

I can't help but wonder whether this will be the only birthday of Max's he'll see. Fear of him ending up back inside, or dead, have been plaguing me. I haven't voiced these aloud yet, not to him, but I think them. All the time.

Heidi sidles up to me as I'm cutting the cake in the kitchen. "OK," she whispers, bumping her hip into mine. "I can see why you waited for your man to get out. Damn, girl." She fans herself.

"Shut up!" I laugh, shoving her in the arm as she picks up plates to hand out.

I glance at Masen through the doorway, stood with Petey and Emmett, beer in hand. He looks relaxed. Happy. And I like him like that.

He catches me looking, picking up empty bottles, bringing them through and putting them on the counter.

"Any more beer?" he asks, arms wrapping around my middle, kissing the skin behind my ear as I slice more cake.

"If there's none left in the fridge, there's a crate in the garage."

He swipes frosting off a piece of cake I've just cut, sticking it in his mouth before I can tell him no.

"You're supposed to wait for yours," I laugh. "Everyone else is."

"Mmm, but where's the fun in that?"

His hand finds my ass, slapping it. I pout at him over my shoulder as he disappears with a grin through the door into the utility and then the garage door beyond that.

Esme volunteers to get the door when the doorbell rings, her voice cutting across the noise of kids and adults chattering and laughing.

"Hopefully it'll be Carlisle," I hear her say. I doubt it, but for Esme's sake, I hope it is.

Moving into the living room, I pass out more plates, only stopping when Charlotte utters a 'what the fuck' in my ear, elbowing me in the ribs followed by, "What's _he_ doin' here?"

I look up to find Esme stood with the last person I expected to show up here, right now, because he's not invited. Or wanted.

Esme's eyes meet mine, and I resign myself to joining her. I'm not sure whether she knows who Alec is, but if she does, it might confirm any suspicions she has left about Masen.

"_What are you doing_?" I ask through gritted teeth, voice low, when I reach Alec.

"_Thought I'd drop by, give the little guy a little somethin'_." He holds out a neatly wrapped present covered in dinosaurs.

I stare at it, and then at him. Feeling little arms wrapping around my leg, my hand finds Max's hair as he looks up at Alec with big brown eyes. I lift him up onto my hip, Alec offering the present to Max this time. Max doesn't hesitate, taking it, shaking it, beaming; no idea that this man is partly responsible for depriving him of his Daddy for so long.

"_You shouldn't have_," I tell him. And I mean it. It's like rubbing salt in a wound.

Masen joins us, much less diplomatic than I am, pushing Alec away, his face tight now, annoyed.

"Outside."

"_Later, Princess_," Alec winks.

I watch them disappear, placing Max down, kneeling beside him as he wastes no time tearing off paper. I smile at his enthusiasm but when I realize exactly what Alec's just given Max…

Standing abruptly, I snatch up the toy before he can look at it properly, a broken cry escaping from his mouth.

"Mommy just needs to… Char, can you..."

Char scoops Max up, hushing him as I dart out the room, out the front door. It slams behind me, causing Alec and Masen to turn around from where they're stood on the drive.

"_Are you fucking kidding me?" _I launch the present at Alec's head, hitting him square in the face before I reach him, fleeting flashes of metal pressed against my forehead, stroking down my cheek; Masen stood aiming at my head; the way my heart thudded in the moments before I thought I was going to _die_.

It thuds now, loud in my ears, turning my vision red. I don't think, I just do; my hand connecting hard with Alec's face before either of them can do anything about it.

Hand stinging, the feel of Masen's hands on me, already between us. His face swims, concerned, asking me what's wrong, then rounding on Alec, asking him what the fuck he's done.

Alec massages where my hand has left an imprint on his face.

"_Damn. You wanna play, Princess?_"

"_Fuck you! You know exactly what you're doing, you asshole!_" My voice is wavering, shrugging Masen off as he tries to calm me down. "No! Let go! He's fucking sick. _Is this some kinda joke to you_?"

Masen retrieves the present from the ground and I can see the moment it registers, the same look that must've passed over my face, clouding his.

To anyone else, it's a toy gun.

To me; given by _him_ it runs a lot deeper than that and he knows it. A threat, a reminder… And giving it to Max? Giving it to my baby who _never_ asked for any of this? My eyes tear up, angry and frustrated.

Masen steps up to Alec, pushing the present into his chest, hard.

"The fuck is this?"

"What? Thought I'd start the ball rollin'... little man taking after his Papà, his Nonno. Didn't mean shit by it." He adjusts his dark suit jacket, brushing it off.

Masen gets in Alec's face.

"Bullshit," he grits out. He grabs a fistful of his shirt. "I work for you, but you stay the fuck away from my family. _My_ son. _My_ wife. You gotta problem, I'm right here. You come near them again. I'll make sure it's the last thing you do. Y'hear me?"

"Remember who the fuck you're talking to," Alec snarls, shoving Masen back. "One call…" He's menacing, eyes flashing dangerously, but Masen doesn't back down.

"Yeah? Go on then, Alec! The fuck are you waitin' for?" He squares back up to him.

They stare at each other in a tense stand-off before I hear Masen utter a 'thought so,' under his breath.

He turns to me just before Alec speaks again.

"And there I was thinkin' you'd gone soft since our little Principessa showed up."

Masen spins around, fists clenched.

"Our? She ain't _yours_."

"You sure she's yours? Real cosy lookin' with that Doc she works for. Two years is a long time to go without. Couldn't blame her for gettin' her kicks elsewhere," he goads.

I take a step forward, hand finding Masen's, sure he's seconds away from landing a fist in Alec's face. Alec is hitting a nerve, and he knows it.

"That's not true," I say quietly.

Masen glances at me.

"Not gonna say it again," he says to Alec, finality in his tone. "Stay the fuck away."

The front door opens behind us, Demetri coming out and standing on the porch, assessing. Alec's eyes fly up to him, before he sniffs and turns on his heel.

The look he shoots us both before he gets into his car is enough to make my stomach churn, and as his black Mercedes disappears into the night, all I can think about is how fucked this is.

He could put Masen back in prison. _Or worse._

"Everything alright?" Demetri asks as we come back inside the warmth of the house.

Masen walks away, not uttering another word to either of us. I shrug my shoulders, because I'm not sure, and it makes me want to slap Alec all over again.

...

It's only after everyone has left and Max is fast asleep that Masen comes back in off the back porch. He stands there for a minute, smelling faintly of smoke, watching me as I load the dishwasher before he brings it up.

"Did you fuck anyone else while I was inside?"

I laugh bitterly, but I don't stop what I'm doing to answer.

"Bella!"

I whirl around, furious.

"Jesus, Masen! No. How can you even ask me that? _Nothing_ happened with nobody. I was too busy changing diapers, trying to get by on five hours of broken sleep a night, raising _our_ baby by myself to even think about getting myself off, let alone anyone else!"

I stand with my hand on my hip.

"Y'know what you _should_ be mad about?" I hear myself say, unable to hold my tongue any longer. "You should be mad that Alec kept you away from us for fucking _years_. All the stuff you've missed out on with Max. Every scan, his birth, his first steps, his first words, his first birthday." I list them all off in my fingers. "You should be mad that he just gave him a toy _gun_. After everything him and his family have done to mine. To me. To us! Now more threats? Putting doubts in your head about me? I _waited_ for you. Don't you fucking dare throw that back in my face."

My bottom lip trembles as a huff of air escapes his mouth. When he looks up his eyes are burning. He reaches for me, but I move away, raising my hands.

"No!"

His hands retreat into fists.

"I ain't just mad, Bella. I'm fuckin' _furious_."

"Then you need to figure shit out, Masen! Because you working for him means you're _never_ going to put Max and me first. And if you don't or won't, then I will."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He knows what it means.

I lick my lips and look away, stomach clenching painfully.

"I'll leave you if I have to."

"Bella—"

I don't stay to hear what he has to say, pushing past him, heading for the stairs. He turns and follows me.

"I wouldn't be doin' this if I had a choice!"

"There's always a choice, Masen! You promised me. You _promised_ no more and yet here we fucking are. Again."

We stand gazing at each other for too long. I'm breathing hard, raging, pulling at my hair in its ponytail. He looks away first, knuckles finding the wall as he knocks his fist against it.

"You're right."

The words hang in the air as he steps closer. "Your right. I'm sorry."

I reluctantly let him draw me to him. His forehead finds mine, my eyes lowered to his chest.

"I'm sorry."

Tears roll down my cheeks, stress and worry and anger winning out. I'm too stiff in his arms, but slowly the fight drains out of me and I melt into him, craving his comfort.

Fingers find my hair, lips pressed to my head. "I'm sorry," he says again.

He lets go slowly after a while, stepping back, reaching for his coat hanging up behind me.

"Where are you going?" I ask, alarmed.

He pulls his coat on, adjusting the collar, taking out leather gloves from the pockets. He leans over, pressing his mouth to mine.

"To finish this."

...

Hours later I'm tossing and turning under cold sheets, unable to sleep, worrying myself sick about what exactly Masen's doing.

By the time the sun gets up, so has Max, and I haven't slept at all.

Oblivious to the anxiety spiking through me, Max chats away, hugging his favorite teddy, to his chest as I fix up breakfast. Going through the motions of our morning routine distracts me a little, but not much. Porridge and fruit for us both, milk in his sippy cup, a coffee for me and a few early morning cartoons for him while we eat, even though I'm really not hungry.

I'm the one who set this ball rolling. And… He's going to kill him. That's what my gut says he meant by 'finish this.' There's no other way out. There's just no other way for this to end, surely?

I jump when I hear the slam of a car door, startling Max so much he starts crying.

"Aw, Max. No crying," I hush, plucking him out of his highchair, kissing his forehead.

Reaching the hallway at the same time as the front door opens, I freeze as Masen slips inside the house, bringing cold morning air in with him.

My skin prickles as our eyes meet. I'm not sure what I'm expecting him to say.

"Did you..." I trail off as he shrugs his coat off.

"It's not what you think." He leans in, kissing me, taking Max from my arms.

I frown in confusion.

"Hey dude, what you sheddin' all those tears for, huh? Gonna take you to see your Nana and your Auntie Es today and then me and your Mommy are going out for the day."

He smiles at me tiredly as Max stops crying, wiping his face on Masen's grey sweater. A hand runs down my arm.

"We'll talk later."

"Dadda play cars?" Max asks as they head for the living room, leaving me standing there, alone.

"Sure, dude. Nothin' I like more than playing cars. Do I get to be the red monster truck this time?"

"No. Mine, Daddy. Green one, OK?"

"Green one it is."

...

Dropping Max off with Elizabeth and Esme a couple of hours later, I find myself hovering a little longer than normal, fussing over him even though he's content; lapping up the attention Angela is giving him as he demonstrates just how high a monster truck can jump.

When we do leave, it feels strange. I can count on one hand the time we've had alone together since he was released.

He drives us into Chicago and I've no idea where we're going or what we're doing until the big wheel on the Old Navy Pier appears in the distance.

Parked up and paid, a little thrill runs down my spine as the car door slams behind us. The last time we were here together was the morning after Carlisle had fixed me up. The years have passed, but the pier somehow stays the same.

Masen offers his hand and I take it as we slowly wander along, a biting wind blowing my hair up and around. I laugh as he gets a mouth full, before I duck into the shelter of a shop and throw it up in a bun.

"Does it look OK? I'm blind here." I wave a hand over my hair and Masen reaches out, tucking a stray hair behind my ear with cold fingertips. "What?" I ask when he says nothing.

A little smirk creeps onto his mouth.

"Feel like I didn't say it enough when I was inside."

"Say what?"

"That you're real fuckin' pretty."

I pull my scarf tighter around me, hiding my smile behind it. He tugs it down so he can kiss me, and I let him, even though last night's argument is weighing on my mind.

Masen suggests the arcade as we make our way further down the pier. It's a distraction, and the right kind. I get we need to talk, but time together, alone, is so rare I let it slide so we can just… be happy. In the moment.

After my fingers have warmed up, we take full advantage of how quiet it is. He lets me beat his ass at air hockey twice and spend way too much on the slot machines, only for me to win twenty bucks anyway.

After we've exhausted the games and my tummy is beginning to growl with hunger, we get steaming cups of coffee to go, and share cheesy fries out of a takeout box, walking along the pier until we stop pretty much where we did the first time he brought me here. Same bench, same view. Opposite seasons.

I fiddle with the lid of my coffee cup, looking into eyes that are too tired. A reminder he was out all of last night and he hasn't said a word about it. Neither of us have.

"Why are we here?" I ask quietly, sensing there's something more to this visit than a date day. Before he speaks my mouth starts running. "I'm sorry... for last night. I know Alec's holding a lot over you. I just… I don't want this for Max, Masen. I'm worried that you're either going to end up back inside or you're gonna end up dead. I'm _scared_. And no matter how much my heart wants this, my head says somethin' has to give here. We can't carry on like this."

He's silent, studying me for ages before he speaks.

"If I tell you this. You gotta promise me you won't breathe a word to anyone."

"Queen of secrets right here."

His lips twitch and then he exhales as if he has the weight of the world on his shoulders, a seriousness settling over him. He looks around, checking we're alone.

"The reason I ain't done nothin' yet... since I've been out, the reason I'm working for Alec again…" he pauses. "I'm givin' info to the Feds as part of a deal. They're building a case under RICO against Alec. The family."

I suck a breath in. "Seriously?"

"In return I'm immune to prosecution, option of WITSEC for you, Max, and me if it all goes south."

I take a minute, looking out at dark murky water.

"And how is this supposed to end? What if Alec finds out?" I swallow hard, suddenly terrified because betrayal like that is… Well, betrayal like that is a certified death sentence, no doubt.

"Gotta hope that he don't. Last night I was talking to the Feds about speeding this whole thing up. I dunno how long I can carry on without taking the fucker out myself, cos believe me, that's what I wanna do right now. After that little stunt he pulled yesterday. They just need me to carry on for a few more months."

"A few more _months_?"

"I know this isn't what you want, ain't what I promised. But I'm really fucking hoping to make good on those soon." He looks down, tugging me closer. "I don't want this for us either." His cold nose brushes against my forehead. "I don't want you to leave me," he murmurs. "I wouldn't blame you. But it's not what I want. You're what I want. You and Max."

"Me too. I just…"

"It'll happen. It will."

I squeeze my eyes shut, heart racing, and I nod. Acceptance, resignation, the magnitude of danger he's putting himself in making me more fearful than before.

But if it means we're free from this, from Alec—It's gotta be worth it.

"And there's no other way?"

"I've thought 'bout this for so fuckin' long." He chuckles, shaking his head. "All the fuckin' time while I was inside. Dreamed about all the ways I could pull this off. But even if I… even if I got _rid_ of him, it don't solve the fact there's others who'd then be a problem. This is the only way most of the organization goes down. It's the only one that'll work, long term. And that's what I need for us. What we need. A solution that's gonna last."

"OK." My voice is small.

"I want to send you and Max away somewhere, 'til this is done. Him showing up last night… I'm not gonna risk my family becomin' collateral. You've been through enough."

"And you haven't? I know what I said, but I don't want to leave you. I—"

"_I_ need to know you're safe. It's only for a little while." He pauses. "I already talked it over with Demetri. He'll go with you."

"But what about you? What if—"

"I'm gonna be fine, B," he says, trying to be reassuring. But he can't know that for sure, and we both know it.

...

It's growing dark by the time we head back home. I turn the radio loud and sing along to all the tunes they're throwing out, trying to forget the seriousness of the last hour, the noose around our necks.

Masen glances over at me, amused.

"How many hours do you think we've spent in cars together?" I ask him as he pulls up at a stoplight, reminded of our long journeys, hopping state to state, on the run.

"Too many," he says, his hand finding the inside of my thigh. "And your singin' ain't improved, that's for sure." His fingers creep higher. "Shame 'bout these jeans too."

"It's January," I stress. "It's cold, I ain't getting naked for you in a car in Chicago in _January_."

His mouth pulls into a smile. I can see it even in the dark, and I just know he's thinking about the times I have shed my clothes for him in a car.

"Besides," I say looking behind us. "Still got Max's seat in here. That gives us even less space."

"Then I'm gonna have to take you home before we pick him up," he squeezes my leg before shifting up gears.

I hum in agreement. A whole house to ourselves is something we should be taking full advantage of, for sure, especially if Max and me are leaving for a while.

Lights bounce back off dark windows as he swings the Beamer into our drive, putting it in park. He leans over, hand finding my neck, turning my face so he can kiss me as his fingers find the buttons on my jeans.

"What'll the neighbors think?" I laugh, slapping his hand away.

"Don't care. I fuckin' love you, Mrs. C," he says against my mouth, taking my bottom lip between his teeth.

It's then, in a groan of want, as my legs part and his hand works its way into my panties that I see something. Or I think I see it. A movement in the house, a dim light.

I freeze, pushing Masen away.

"What?"

"There's someone in the house."

"What?"

"I mean, I think I saw—"

Masen's already reaching under his seat, bringing out black metal. He releases the clip, checking it, before snapping it back in.

I would grind him out over it, but I just can't bring myself to right now.

"Which window?"

"Living room."

His eyes scan. Then he cranes his neck to look up and down the street.

"You sure? What you saw?"

"I think so…"

He's out the car.

"Masen you can't just—"

"Stay here."

A beat of fear finds its way into my heart, what if's starting to rattle around my head. He disappears, opening the front door with no hesitation.

His lack of fear is something I've come to hate. He's just not afraid when he should be. When someone would normally be. It's not bravery, not by a long shot, it's just the way he is.

I'm not like that, so I pull my cell out, texting Demetri.

As soon as the message is sent, I'm straining my eyes and my ears. Minutes pass, each one excruciatingly long.

Suddenly lights switch on and Masen appears on the doorstep, jerking his head, gesturing for me to join him.

"Meet your intruder," he says with a wry grin as I join him in the doorway. He holds up a torch from a dinosaur projector toy Max got yesterday. "We were using it this mornin' for the monster truck show. Must've rolled or somethin'."

I look at it and then him, clutching my coat to my chest still.

"Really? I could've sworn." I shake my head and laugh, shoulders relaxing. I look around.

"And you sure you've checked everywhere?"

"No forced entry, nothin' outta place. I'm sure."

"OK." I laugh again then. "How paranoid am I?"

I lean up and kiss him as he kicks the door behind us, his mouth never leaving mine as he walks us back into the kitchen, sliding coats off as we go.

"Where d'you want this," he asks, eyes dark, lustful, moving my hand to feel his dick.

"Urgh, don't care. Just want you," I tell him as granite digs into my back.

He lifts me up onto the countertop, spreading my legs so he's in between them, palms rubbing up and down my thighs. He pauses.

"Sorry for askin' you last night about—"

"Shh," I hush him, hands on his chest. He's already forgiven. I'm kissing him harder, tongue against his, fingers touching his abs underneath his jumper and t-shirt.

He's intoxicating. I don't think I'll ever be able to say no to him.

_Not ever._

The sound of glass breaking comes out of nowhere, a whole pane cracking behind Masen. I flinch, a strangled noise leaving my mouth as Masen spins sharply, the entire pane shattering completely seconds later.

Masen's hand is fumbling for his gun on the counter beside us, a look of pain crossing his face fleetingly, his free hand flying to his stomach.

He looks down, bringing his hand away, red coating his fingers. And I see it then, red already seeping through his sweater. My face mirrors his: surprise, shock.

His name escapes my lungs, but he's firing back, pulling me behind him, from the kitchen toward the front door. Another bullet misses us by inches, hitting the wall above my head, plaster spat back at us.

Pulling the front door wide open, he slams it back shut with a harsh, "Fuck!"

Forcing me up the stairs first, he pushes on my back with his hand, the thudding of my heart louder than our feet as we flee.

I twist the lock closed on our bedroom door, struggling to understand what's going on… How one minute Masen can be setting my skin on fire and now he's dragging the dresser in front of our bedroom door, things on top clattering to the floor.

"Stay away from the windows," he says, his voice hoarse, grunting as he pushes the dresser up against the door.

My mind runs a million miles a minute, my heart hammering in my chest, and as my eyes meet Masen's I realize I know exactly who this is. Exactly why this is happening. My eyes drop from his face to his stomach, patch of red getting bigger.

"Masen," I breathe, taking his arm, dragging him into our bathroom.

"Shit," Masen hisses as if he's only just registering the pain. "Fuck."

"Let me see. Let me see!" I demand, hoping it's just a graze, because anything more… _anything more_... I can't think about right now.

He moves his hand away, covered in dark red blood. I grab the hem of his sweater and t-shirt and peel them gently upwards.

The wound shows the entry point of the bullet, oozing blood. It drips down his stomach, into the waistband of his jeans, splattering onto the marbled tiles of the bathroom floor.

Internally I'm panicking. My mind running through all the possibilities, the location of the bullet… There's no exit point.

If it's nicked a major vessel, then he could bleed out within minutes.

_Minutes_.

Masen slowly sinks to the floor as I pull his t-shirt from his sweater, scrunching it up in my hand, applying pressure down hard, despite his hiss of protest, trying desperately to remember what to do. All my training out the window.

As his face screws up in pain, I take my cell out of my pocket, frantically dialling 911 with one hand, his blood all over my other.

My words are edged with hysteria as I talk to the operator. It's almost as if my mind and body are disconnected; as if I'm not speaking. My eyes flitting around Masen's face as he grimaces.

His hand finds mine, coating it in blood as I hang up.

"Get outta here," he says, breathing unevenly. "_Run_, Bella."

"I'm not leaving you," I say stubbornly. "There's nowhere for me to go."

"Hide," Masen urges. "For me. For Max. He needs you."

"He needs you too," I tell him, blinking back tears. Then, my voice breaking, "_I _need you."

Sounds I wasn't aware of before filter upwards. Voices. Footsteps.

"I love you," I tell him. "They're coming. The cops and the EMTs... They're coming. You're gonna be OK. We've still gotta go and pick up Max from your mom's, remember?" I brush his hair back, kissing his forehead. "Remember?"

He smiles, his movements jerky as he shivers, his body starting to go into shock.

I shake my own head, wiping away a stray tear with my shoulder, the whole t-shirt beneath my hand saturated now. I swap it out for a towel, packing it over the wound again.

The door is being kicked open behind us, I can hear it. See the dresser moving when I look over my shoulder. I look at Masen, panic and fear rushing through me, coming out in short shaky breaths. If Alec or whoever he's with gets in here, it's game over.

Masen moves, heaving himself up. Swaying on his feet as I protest. He steadies himself over the sink, looking up into the mirror, face pale, sweaty.

"Bella," he grits his teeth in determination. "Please."

He staggers out the bathroom, gun in hand. Standing just to the side of the door, head tilting back to rest on the wall.

The dresser shifts again, the next forceful push sending it crashing over, the door forced wide open. Some guy I don't recognize comes crashing through the door, but Masen's already put a bullet in his head before he can look around.

He shakes his head, as if he's dizzy.

The sound of bullets peppering the wall next makes me crouch, hidden behind part of the bathroom wall.

"That how it's gonna be?" Masen shouts with a laugh. "Ain't even man enough to do it yourself?"

I chance a look. Masen wavering on his feet and I know, I _know_ he's losing too much blood now. He needs compression; he needs to be lying down. He needs the fucking ambulance and cops to get here.

The sound of laughing makes me shudder and I hide myself again before I see Alec enter the room.

There's a loud thud that makes me jump.

"Too easy, brother. The fuck happened to you? Huh?" I hear Alec say.

I can't help but look again. Masen on all fours now. Alec aims a swift kick to his torso, followed by another and another. He's vicious. He kicks and he stamps, and I can't watch, stuffing my fist into my mouth, my cry a whimper.

Masen's gun slides into the bathroom, ricocheting off the wall, stopping inches away from my feet.

"I told you not to let your feelings become a fuckin' problem. Remember? Colombia," I hear Alec say.

I reaching shakily for the gun, blowing out my breath in little pants.

"Yet here we are. Y'think I wouldn't find out... Y'think I'm that stupid. That I don't have eyes and ears everywhere? Huh? You should've known better."

I chance a glance as bloody hands grip black metal. Alec dragging Masen to his feet, spinning him against the wall with a thud, gun to his head.

He taps the gun against Masen's temple. "All for _her_? Where's she at? Huh? Where's your _wife_?"

"Leave her outta this," Masen snarls, mouth full of blood.

"What's gonna stop me if you're gone?"

Masen spits in his face.

"You're done… Even if I'm six feet under. It's all fuckin' set," he pants, taking in shallow gasps of air.

I steel myself, closing my eyes. For Masen to have any chance of coming out of this… for us to have any chance...

Masen's face is ashen, eyes landing on me as I come out of the bathroom. The look on his face makes Alec turn. He releases Masen and I watch as he slowly slips down the wall, a look of agony on his face that makes my heart drum harder. Physical pain or his reaction to this, to me, I'm not sure.

But, he saved my life twice, and now I'm going to do whatever it takes to save his.

"Put it down," I demand quietly, gesturing to the gun in Alec's hand. He looks at it in his hand, but he just laughs at me, as if he finds it funny. As if he finds me funny, and it makes me so angry. So fucking hateful.

He points his at me in return and for a second I'm right back to the first time we ever met.

_"Don't make me hurt you. You put it down, Princess_," he smiles as I swallow thickly, trying to curb the fear. "_You ain't gonna do shit with that. I mean, you look hot with a piece in hand, but_—"

Masen moves suddenly from behind Alec causing him to twist his head on reflex, and I don't hesitate to take advantage.

I try not to think about it too much; I try just to remember what Masen taught me. Line up the sights and...

I squeeze the trigger. The kickback jolting down my arms. But I do it again, and again, and again.

Until Alec's on his knees, looking at his chest, then back to me, open-mouthed.

Releasing the breath I've been holding I walk over, my boot clad foot pushing Alec over, back onto the floor.

"_You should've known better_," I say softly, leaning over him, repeating his own words back to him.

Dazed, he stares at me, before smiling, coughing blood. He's gasping, words I don't care for.

The last bullet I aim at his heart.

I don't have time to process what I've just done, because I'm rushing over to Masen's side.

His jeans are soaked, blood pooling on the floor beside him, my hands shaking badly as I pull a t-shirt from the dresser draw, bloody hand finding his neck, checking his pulse—faint but there, his breathing shallow and head spins as he watches me with lazy eyes. Heavy lids closing.

"Don't you dare!" I cry, pushing his hair back, cradling his cheek in my hand. "Don't you dare leave me now. After everything… _everything_… we've been through."

My cry is harsh against the stillness in the room, choking on my own words, tears blurring my eyes as I hear myself beg him to open his.

A movement in the doorway makes my head jerk up. Ben is stood there taking in the room; Alec lying silent on the floor behind me. His gaze lingers, his mouth opening, and before he can utter a word, a shot rings out, his head exploding infront of me. Demetri appearing behind him as he hits the ground.

I forgot I'd even messaged him.

"Jesus Christ," he murmurs, stepping over Ben.

"Help me," I plead, my whole body trembling. "Help me with him, please! I can't—I can't lose him. I can't."

Demetri is over to my side, shaking his head slightly. Like the situation is hopeless, but I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear him say it. "Bella…"

"Please. I can't…" I sob, pressing harder on Masen's wound.

"Move him flat," he says, as he helps me move him so he's lying horizontal.

In the distance I can hear the sirens. Demetri takes over compression, a faint groan from Masen.

"I love you so much," I tell him, cradling his face, smearing blood, my hands on his cheeks. As if love alone at this point can help. "Hold on. Just hold on, OK?"

Masen's hand reaches out clumsily to cup my cheek, his eyes blinking open as he tries to focus, my hand folding over his, sticking with blood.

"My girl," he says, his voice barely audible, thumb sliding across my cheek.

His hand falls back slowly, his eyes shutting again, and the silence after is deafening.


	33. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_Summer, 2016_

_(Five years later)_

Clear blue sky above me, I let my eyes slowly close, lulled by the rush of wind through the trees and the sound of water lapping at the lake shore.

My heart feels full and peaceful. The kind of peaceful that sinks into your bones. I feel it more, the more time that passes. Acceptance, growth… It's a process. It ebbs, and it flows, highs and lows.

Irina told me once that trauma leaves a scar. And she's right. Sometimes it's physical, but more often than not, it's not visible. It's a mental burden you live with, day after day. It seeps into the most mundane of everyday things; the smallest of things triggering painful memories.

Most of the time you have no choice but to carry on. Responsibilities stop you from crumbling under the weight of everything. It would have been easy to. Medication helped to an extent. Therapy is better.

I try to work through bad memories and negative thoughts, rather than bottling them up, now. No matter how painful it is, it only hurts more in the end if I don't.

Caius, James, Alec… Masen.

All people who changed parts of me. Had a profound impact on the person I am now. Some for the better, some for the worse.

_Masen_.

I frown.

I think I lived off adrenaline alone for months, after. I had Max to think about. I had different sides of law enforcement that needed answers. I had hours of explaining myself over and over. What happened. Why I did what I did.

Coming to terms with killing Alec has been difficult; mostly because I feel no remorse. None at all. It was the only choice I had, and I'd do it again.

The fact Masen had been listed as being an informant in an active investigation meant that they decided not to pursue any charges; a silver lining, I guess.

I still dream about it though. That night. My brain _still_ trying to come to terms, for it to make sense; even now, years later.

My memories are hazy. I don't remember the EMTs arriving; I don't remember the journey to the hospital. If I try really hard, I can hear the sirens wailing. Snatches of urgent voices, but nothing concrete.

The things I do remember I've replayed over and over in my head, so many times.

The look I got from a couple as I stood in the corridor outside resucitation, the horror on their faces. How bright and harsh the fluorescent lights were overhead. I remember looking down at myself; seeing what they saw... My clothes, my hands, soaked and smeared in dark red blood.

My husband's blood.

His life literally all over me.

I remember the nurse who hoisted me up from my knees as I buckled, distraught. She took me by the arm into a cubicle and cleaned me up as best she could. Her kindness swallowed up in everything that followed. I vaguely remember her telling me that the hospital was a level one trauma centre, that he was in good hands.

"Do you have someone coming?" she asked, over and over. "Do you want me to call someone?"

I couldn't think straight enough to give her an answer.

Demetri turned up not long after. Elizabeth and Carlisle not long after that.

I'm distracted as footsteps get closer to where I'm lying on my lounger, soaking up the sun. I can't help but smile. Max. His tell-tale giggles; the slapping of his feet on the wooden boards of the dock as he runs down it and throws himself into the water with a shriek and a huge splash.

The world is still dim underneath sunglasses as I open my eyes, propping myself up on my elbows to watch. Even at seven, I know he's going to be a heartbreaker; tall, with a mop of dark hair, he's the image of his daddy.

I remember the surgeon's face swimming as he told me Masen had gone into cardiac arrest whilst they were working on him. That they had to open his chest up and physically massage his heart to get it beating again.

"You need to prepare yourself for the worst," he said.

And I remember sinking into a seat and thinking how can anything prepare you for losing the person you love?

I remember seeing Masen for the first time in the ICU, hooked up on life support, in an induced coma, ventilator breathing for him. So many wires and tubes and machines beeping.

God, the beeping.

Minus his spleen and left kidney, I remember being told that even if he made it through the next few hours, there were new complications that could arise from clamping an artery during surgery; sepsis, gangrene, amputation.

I remember how long each hour was of those first critical twenty-four. I spent every one I could by his side, holding on to him for dear life, as he did the same.

Two more surgeries, a secondary infection, so many days and nights that blurred together. I lived between the hospital and his mom's, the cops still carrying out forensics on the house.

I barely slept, I didn't eat. I felt guilty for leaving Max, guilty for leaving Masen.

I don't believe in God, but I prayed. I prayed to whatever deity would listen during those first few hours, the days that followed, and then for weeks after.

And they didn't go unanswered.

My eyes find Masen now, cheering Max on, his head just visible as he treads water in the lake. I push my sunnies up, and when our eyes meet, he winks, my heart stuttering in my chest.

He was lucky. _We_ were lucky.

He swims towards the deck, Max latched round his shoulders and I smile wide as he hauls them both up, muscles rippling, tan from the weeks we've spent here at Papà's lake house in Arizona, on our annual vacation from our lives in the Pacific Northwest.

Seattle has more rain than Chicago, but it was time for a fresh start, for all of us. Six months after Masen got the all clear from the hospital we hired a U-Haul and left Chicago for good.

Life is quiet; any lingering threats under lock and key.

"C'mon Mom, ain't you gonna do a cannonball too?" Max asks enthusiastically, running up to me, tugging on my hand.

"I can't," I smile at him, moving my book, standing and stretching as Masen towels off. I peek at him, the white scar on his torso, the scar down his chest. They're forever the reminder of another trauma we went through, another thing we survived.

We joke that we match now. My scar and his.

"Oh." Max frowns at me. "Is it cos of the baby?"

I glance down at my tummy where I'm rounding out nicely now at twenty-six weeks. Planned, this time.

"Yeah, baby, wouldn't want your little brother or sister getting scrambled in there, huh?"

Masen drips water on me as he pulls me in for a kiss.

"Yuck," Max complains, nose wrinkling. "I'm gonna find Nana. Are Nonno and Uncle Dem coming down soon?"

"Soon. Sunday," I tell him, sighing as he runs full pelt inside the house.

Papà and Demetri coming down is something me and Max have been looking forward to. Masen? Not so much. Tension thick between Papà and him. The first time they met in person, a few years ago, almost ended up with them fighting. I tell them both it's because they're so similar, but they're just too pig-headed to acknowledge it, even now.

Tolerance is where they're at, I think, and only for my sake. Nothing more.

"You OK?" Masen asks, fingers tugging at my bikini bottoms.

"Just… remembering." I swallow, feeling tearful, his eyes softening. "We're so lucky you're here," I whisper.

"I know," he murmurs.

"It's stupid because I'm really happy right now." I almost feel guilty for it. For being this happy. "Hormones, huh?"

He looks me over and smiles.

"You're glowin'."

"Mmhm._You_ are burning." I press the tips of my fingers into the tops of red shoulders before I lace them around his neck. Dark eyes twinkle, warm lips finding mine again.

We stay like that for a while, and I close my eyes feeling blissed, content as he holds me, as baby kicks his hand and he pushes gently back.

Max runs out to us again, a whirlwind of energy as he wraps his arms around us both. My hand finds his wet hair, brushing it back off his face as he puts his hand on my belly too.

"Here, buddy." Masen moves Max's hand underneath his so he can feel. His eyes grow wide when he feels his sibling kick out, beaming up at us.

"That's so… _weird_," he says, his voice low. Masen and I laugh.

I think baby is another boy, but Masen and Max are convinced it's a girl this time, and in a matter of months we'll find out for sure.

Right now though, I breathe in my little family, enjoying the normal I always craved; living each day, because we know how lucky we are to be here. Despite it all.

We focus on what matters most.

Us, together, as a family.

It's all we ever wanted.

And everything else?

Everything else is just...

white noise.

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**AN:**

**The End! For reals. **

**Thank you so much for all the love and support this story has received, I really appreciate it so, so much. This fic has never been about quiet moments. It's all about the angst, the cliffies, the drama and it's been so much fun, I really hope you've enjoyed the rollercoaster as much as I have!**

**Biggest thank you to Monica who's spent hours of her time beta-ing and to Heather and Maria for pre-reading. Couldn't have done this without you guys!**

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**_LittleEva:If this clearly takes place in Chicago, why use British grammar and construction? It always jolts the reader from the story and makes me question where this is taking place._**

**Just going to answer this here as I can't respond to guest reviews.**

**It's simply a case of not knowing any "better". I'm British, my natural instinct is to write with the grammar and construction I know. I didn't want this set in the UK so I've tried to Americanize things where I can (sweaters rather than jumpers, nail polish rather than varnish, etc.) but it isn't the easiest. My beta is American, as are my pre-readers and they catch most things (I mean, do you know how difficult it is to retrain yourself to put z where it doesn't belong? Haha.) I'm sorry if it jolts you out the story, if there's something specific then please PM me and I'll change it! No matter how much time I spend binge watching American TV series on Netflix, I'm not American so you know, let me know… I won't bite, promise :) **

**Till next time!**

**HTFM**

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**Ps. Any nasty reviews won't see the light of day. You want to criticize? Go for it! Just do it constructively. I don't deserve abuse for writing as a hobby. I NEVER claimed I could write even remotely well. Don't like? Don't read. (Also, nowhere near being a boomer, Sam. Closer in age to you. Thanks for the lols.)**


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